Brsity  of  California 
mthern  Regional 
.^brary  Facility 


'fi;|5^1^1''^iW:^^'ff^1^:RTl 


NfeX 


Sl2^|)|^ 


The  Cruise  of  a  Schooner 


^;>^-^ 


^<Jo    ^ 


€X:^^, 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2008  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/cruiseofschoonerOOharr 


SUNSET    ON    THE     MOJAVE    DESERT 


^•- 


.v,X 


The  Cruise  of  a 
Schooner 


By 

Albert    W.    Harris 

With    Illustrations    from 
Photographs 


Privately 
Printed 


Copyright,    1911, 

By 
Albert   W.    Harris 


Arranged   and    Printed    by 

Charles    Daniel    Frey 

C  h  icago 


t 


To     My     Friend 
Dr.    H.   W.    Lancaster 


2  H»o ;,«»., 1 


98 


Preface 

YEARS  ago,  no  matter  how  many,  my  head 
was  filled  with  queer  notions.  Probably  there 
are  still  a  few  queer  thoughts  and  notions  left  there. 
I  refer  to  them  as  queer  from  the  point  of  view  from 
which  the  reader  will  look  at  them.  Personally,  I 
have  considered  them  very  sane  and  serious,  and 
quite  worth  working  out. 

To  begin  with,  when  a  boy,  I  had  a  great  yearn- 
ing for  a  pony.  I  had  all  sorts  of  notions  about 
ponies,  but  when  I  did  n't  get  one  as  a  boy,  I 
planned  to  have  more  ponies  when  I  grew  up,  and 
better  ones,  than  any  one  ever  had  before.  In  fact, 
I  built  a  "  pony  "  castle  in  the  air. 

I  had  another  notion  that  I  wanted  to  be  a 
farmer,  and  have  a  big  ranch  with  horses  and  cattle, 
but  when  I  could  not,  as  a  boy,  see  any  chance  to 
work  this  out  at  once,  I  proceeded  in  my  mind  to 
make  it  come  true,  and  pictured  and  planned  it  all 
out,  and  built  such  a  fine  castle  of  a  farm  that  I 
[viil 


Preface 

could  see  it  almost  as  plainly  in  my  mind's  eye  as 
though  it  were  a  reality. 

The  nearest  I  ever  got  to  my  castle  for  many 
years  was  when  riding  over  the  plains  on  a  cow  pony, 
the  cattle  and  the  pony  belonging  to  some  one  else; 
the  fun,  however,  was  all  mine.  I  still  worked  on 
my  castles  and  added  another.  I  pictured  myself 
some  time  riding  or  driving  overland  to  California, 
crossing  the  plains  and  mountains  with  a  party  of 
congenial  spirits,  and  following  the  old  Santa  Fe 
trail  to  the  Pacific  Ocean. 

When  I  talked  seriously  of  these  things  to  ordi- 
nary mortals,  they  smiled,  and  said,  "  You  think 
you  will  do  those  things  some  day,  but  you  never 
will ;  they  are  all  air  castles."  Similar  expressions 
greeted  any  reference  to  ponies,  farms,  or  overland 
trips,  as  the  years  went  by,  till  they  began  to  take 
some  such  place  in  my  own  mind,  and  I  found  my- 
self saying,  "  Air  Castles,  nothing  but  Air  Castles." 
Still,  as  these  castles  began  to  crumble  and  grow 
mossy  with  years,  I  resolved  to  repair  them,  and  in 
so  doing  awoke  to  the  fact  that  two  of  my  castles 
had  materialized.  They  had  come  to  earth,  so  to 
speak,  and  I  found  myself  actually  possessed  of  the 
[  viii  ] 


Preface 

farm  and  the  ponies;  the  identical  ponies,  it  seemed 
to  me,  I  had  seen  in  my  mind's  eye  Vv^hen  a  boy.  It 
took  me  some  time  to  actually  realize  that  the  farm 
and  the  ponies  were  really  mine,  but,  when  I  finally 
came  to  accept  them  as  realities,  I  knew  my  other 
castle  could  not  be  far  off,  and  I  began  again  plan- 
ning to  take  the  overland  trip. 

I  had  planned  this  trip  in  my  mind  so  many  times 
and  in  so  many  ways  that  the  only  new  sensation 
was  that  now  it  would  surely  come  true,  but  I  kept 
on  planning  it  annually  for  five  years  before  I  ac- 
tually started  on  the  trip  itself,  and  then  I  started 
from  the  Pacific  Ocean  and  drove  east. 

The  following  account  of  this  trip  may  be  of  suf- 
ficient interest  to  make  it  worth  reading,  at  least, 
and  if  any  one  who  reads  it  feels  more  hopeful  of 
finishing  the  building  of  the  castles  he  is  now  en- 
gaged upon,  it  will  have  answered  its  purpose. 


[ix] 


Contents 

Chapter  Page 

I  Getting  Started 17 

II  We  get  a  Taste  of  tlie  Desert     ....  31 

III  The  Real  Thing  in  Deserts 42 

IV  Kelso,  California 61 

V  Off  Again 67 

VI  The   Dixie   Country   of   Utah     ....  79 

VII  Along  the  Rio  Grande  Western  Railroad  107 

VIII  Salina    Canyon 113 

IX  Castle   Valley 121 

X  Green  River  to  Grand  Junction     .     .     .  142 

XI  Grand    Junction,    Colorado 163 

XII  The  Mountains 170 

XIII  The  Plains  of  Colorado 201 

XIV  Our  Party  Grows   Smaller 223 

XV  Alone   in   a    Prairie    Schooner     ....  246 


zi 


List  of  Illustrations 

FACING  PAGE 

Sunset  on  the  Mojave  Desert     ....     Frontispiece 

Cacti     Forest 3i 

Provisioned  for  the  Desert 43 

Entering  the  Mojave  Canyon 46 

Emerging  into  the  Desert 49 

A    Desert    Camp 54 

The   Business    Section   of   Kelso,   California     .     .  64 

Joshua    Palm,   or    Giant    Cactus 68 

We    stop    for   Water 79 

Our  First   Camp   East  of  Las   Vegas     ....  81 

A  Sample  of  Mormon  Architecture 91 

Mormon  House   and    Irrigation   Ditch     ....  92 

A    Ranch    in    Bear   Valley 102 

Salina  Canyon 116 

A   Glimpse   of   Castle   Valley 125 

The  Clay  Buttes  near  Green  River 139 

We  abandon  our  Water  Barrels 158 

A    Camp    on    Black    Mesa 177 

The    Two    Normans 178 

xiii 


List    of    Illustrations 

The  Black  Canyon  of  the  Gunnison 180 

A   Camp   Site   on  the   Gunnison 182 

Continental    Divide 186 

Camp  belov/  the  Divide 189 

A  Log  Cabin  on  Bailey's  Mountain 194 

Nearing    Civilization ....  196 

The  Outfit   coming  into   Denver 199 

The  Cook 204 

The  Hostler 207 

Norman  Bradley  and  Kate 210 

Norman  Harris  and  Dixie 213 

Our  Horses  on  the  Open  Range  east  of  Denver     .  222 

A  Mid-day  Camp 226 

We  arrive  at  Kemah 258 

The  Last  Anchorage  of  the  Prairie  Schooner     .     .  260 

We  turn  Kate  out  to  Pasture 262 

Bess  also  is  turned  out:  "Good  Old  Bess"     .     .  264 


XIV 


The  Cruise  of  a 
Schooner 

Chapter    I 
Getting    Started 

IN  planning  an  extended  trip  in  this  country, 
or  Europe,  the  first  thing  one  usually  does  is 
to  consult,  if  convenient,  friends  who  have  been  there 
before.  After  deciding  when  you  will  start,  you 
look  up  time-tables  or  the  departure  of  boats,  re- 
serve accommodations  for  your  party,  pack  your 
grips  or  trunks,  and  you  are  ready  to  start.  In 
driving  overland  it  is  different;  you  may  find  some 
one  to  consult  with  who  has  made  the  trip  before 
you, —  but  the  chances  are  that  all  those  who  have 
done  so  are  dead.  You  will  have  no  time-tables  to 
consult  and,  if  you  go  as  we  did,  no  reservations  to 
make. 

It  all  looked  so  easy,  while  I  was  only  thinking 
about  it,  that  it  seemed  simplicity  itself.      Just  get 
[17] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

a  team  of  horses  and  a  wagon,  and  start.  Inci- 
dentally, I  would  have  plenty  of  company, —  so  many 
folks  had  said  they  would  like  to  go.  We  would 
have  a  tent,  cots,  cook,  guide,  and  all  the  necessary 
outfit. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  this  is  what  really  happened. 
When  approached  on  the  subject,  my  friends,  who 
had  talked  about  going  with  me,  were  one  by  one 
unexpectedly  prevented  from  making  the  trip.  They 
either  had  to  go  to  Europe  or  had  such  pressing 
business  duties  that  they  could  not  possibly  get 
away ;  every  one  of  them,  however,  said  something 
that  sounded  as  if  they  were  very  sorry  they  could 
not  go,  but  which  really  meant  that  they  had 
drummed  up  this  excuse  on  purpose. 

As  a  result,  I  found  I  had  only  myself  to  consult, 
and  so  I  set  a  date  on  which  I  was  sure  I  could 
start.  It  was  only  after  this  date  was  set  that  I 
was  sure  I  was  going  to  get  away.  May  1,  1910,  was 
the  time  decided  upon,  but,  as  the  roads  in  and 
around  Chicago  are  not  very  good  at  that  season, 
I  concluded  that  this  would  be  the  best  time  of  the 
year  to  cross  the  desert.  After  some  planning  I 
decided  to   tackle  the  worst  part   of  the  trip   first, 

ri8i 


Getting    Started 

while  my  enthusiasm  lasted,  and  so,  I  concluded, 
I  would  go  to  California,  get  my  outfit  together, 
and  start  from  there. 

I  had  another  reason  besides  the  time  of  the  year 
and  the  condition  of  the  roads  for  starting  from 
California,  which  was  that  I  would  get  away 
where  my  friends  could  not  talk  me  out  of  starting 
by  telling  me  how  hard  the  trip  was,  how  foolish  I 
was,  how  tired  I  would  be  of  it  all  before  I  finished, 
and  that  I  would  sell  the  outfit  and  come  back  be- 
fore I  had  been  gone  a  month.  In  view  of  the  above 
practical  as  well  as  precautionary  reasons,  I  left  Chi- 
cago for  Los  Angeles.  All  I  took  with  me  was  a  few 
old  clothes  and  my  Chesapeake  dog  Tuck,  planning  to 
outfit  in  full  at  Los  Angeles,  and  start  from  there  as 
soon  as  I  could  possibly  get  ready.  At  the  last  mo- 
ment I  received  word  from  my  old  hunting  partner, 
Dr.  Lancaster,  of  Nevada,  Missouri,  that  he  and  his 
brother  Robert  would  make  the  trip  with  me  and 
would  meet  me  at  Los  Angeles  on  May  the  fifth. 
This  was  especially  gratifying  news,  as  I  had  been 
rather  afraid  I  might  have  to  make  the  trip  all 
alone. 

Arriving  at  Los  Angeles,  May  fifth,  I  met  the 
[19] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

Doctor  and  Bob,  who  had  come  down  from  San 
Francisco,  and  we  at  once  proceeded  to  get  together 
a  suitable  outfit  for  the  trip.  It  took  us  ten  days 
to  do  this,  as  we  had  a  wagon  to  buy  and  fit  up 
with  bows  and  over  jets,  together  with  a  platform 
for  the  water  barrels ;  besides  horses  and  provisions, 
a  wagon  sheet,  tarpaulin,  stove,  tent,  and  a  lot  of 
other  things  we  thought  we  needed. 

While  assembling  the  outfit  we  spent  consider- 
able time  looking  over  a  line  I  had  drawn  on  the 
map  before  leaving  Chicago,  and  which  we  aimed  to 
follow  as  closely  as  possible  in  going  east  to 
Chicago. 

This  line  was  drawn  without  regard  to  roads, 
mountains,  or  desert,  and  represented  as  short  a 
line  as  I  thought  the  lay  of  the  land  would  permit. 
It  was  so  straight  and  looked  so  easy  on  the  map 
that  we  wondered  why  the  Forty-niners  went  so  far 
south,  and  the  Mormons  so  far  north.  We  planned 
how  many  miles  we  could  make  in  a  day,  and  made 
a  schedule  of  where  we  would  be  on  certain  dates, 
so  that  our  families  might  communicate  with  us  if 
necessary. 

Although  our  maps  showed  towns  here  and  there 
[20] 


Getting    Started 

in  the  desert,  we  began  to  consider  our  undertaking 
quite  seriously  when  the  old-timers,  who  were  famil- 
iar with  the  desert,  began  to  ask  concerning  our 
route.  On  looking  at  the  line  on  our  map  they 
began  to  make  predictions,  such  as,  "  You  will 
never  get  across  the  Mojave  so  late  in  the  season 
without  mules,"  "  No  wagon  can  follow  the  route 
you  have  mapped  out,"  "  If  you  get  through  to 
Las  Vegas  without  leaving  your  outfit  strung  along 
the  trail,  you  will  be  lucky."  Such  remarks  set  us 
to  thinking  a  little  hard,  but  as  the  Doctor  and  I 
were  not  exactly  "  tenderfeet,"  having  camped  and 
hunted  together  under  all  sorts  of  conditions  and 
in  nearly  all  parts  of  the  United  States,  we  resolved 
to  stick  to  our  plans  and  go  over  the  route  as  laid 
out,  even  if  no  one  else  had  ever  gone  that  way. 
We  would  demonstrate  that  it  could  be  done,  but 
we  would  prepare  for  any  emergency  and  go  as 
light  as  possible. 

First,  we  decided  to  do  without  a  guide  (a  good 
resolution,  seeing  there  was  none  to  be  had),  and 
next,  to  do  without  a  cook.  This  saved  provisions 
and  water,  and  made  it  possible  to  travel  with  less 
baggage.  Having  advised  our  families  where  we 
[21] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

would  be  at  various  times,  and  having  collected  our 
outfit  at  the  barns  of  the  Southern  California  Edi- 
son Company,  we  were  ready  to  start  Saturday 
morning.  May  the  fourteenth. 

In  order  that  the  reader  may  have  in  his  mind's 
eye  a  picture  of  the  outfit,  including  the  members 
of  the  party,  not  omitting  the  dog,  I  will  try  to 
paint  a  word-picture  of  it. 

Imagine  that  you  see  coming  out  of  a  side  street 
into  Pcco  Street,  a  team  of  medium-sized  horses 
wearing  a  set  of  heavy  tin-bespangled  harness,  at- 
tached to  a  regulation  wide-tread  ranch  wagon  with 
canvas  top,  with  a  Avater  barrel  on  each  side.  A 
bale  of  alfalfa  hay  is  seen  on  the  carrier  behind, 
and  a  lantern  swings  from  one  of  the  bows.  Inside 
are  two  spring  seats,  the  second  being  occupied  by 
a  large,  brown,  yellow-eyed  dog,  and  the  front  seat 
by  two  very  ordinary-looking  individuals  of  un- 
certain age.  Following  the  wagon  is  a  tall  slim  man 
on  a  bay  mare.  There  you  have  a  mental  picture 
of  our  outfit  as  seen  by  the  inhabitants  of  Los 
Angeles  that  May  morning  as  we  started  on  our 
long  journey. 

The  two  men  on  the  front  seat  were  Robert  Lan- 
[  22  ] 


Getting    Started 

caster  and  the  writer ;  the  tall  man  on  the  bay  mare 
was  Doctor  Lancaster.  We  had  stored  inside  the 
wagon  our  provisions,  bedding,  tools,  tent,  cots, 
horse  feed,  etc.  We  also  carried  an  extra  single- 
tree and  clevis,  together  with  a  single  harness  for 
use  in  case  it  should  become  necessary  to  use  all 
three  horses. 

Our  exit  was  anything  but  spectacular.  We  said 
good-bye  to  three  or  four  friends,  feeling  ourselves 
somewhat  conspicuous  on  account  of  our  brand-new 
appearance,  but  were  soon  lost  in  the  crowd  of  a 
large  city,  and  forgot  we  were  on  anything  but 
a  morning's  drive  in  a  rather  slow  coach  through  a 
busy  town,  until  we  found  ourselves  well  out  in  the 
country,  with  an  appetite  for  dinner. 

We  were  taking  v/hat  is  called  the  "  Lower  Road," 
from  Los  Angeles  to  San  Bernardino,  and  had  ar- 
rived at  a  grove  of  eucalyptus,  affording  shade  and 
a  place  to  tie  and  feed  the  horses,  so  we  pvilled  out 
to  the  side  of  the  road  and  made  our  first  stop. 
Here  we  found  a  place  to  water  the  horses,  and 
after  eating  a  cold  lunch  and  giving  the  horses 
plenty  of  time  to  cat,  we  interviewed  our  neighbors 
—  a  man  and  his  wife  and  bo}'  —  camped  near  us, 
[  23  1 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

who  had  come  from  the  north  by  wagon  and  were 
going  down  into  Mexico.  They  had  a  team  of 
horses  and  a  saddle  pony.  They  were  just  seeing 
the  country,  and  had  camped  here  near  Los  Angeles 
to  rest  up  their  stock  and  see  the  town.  They 
seemed  to  have  done  nothing  else  all  their  lives  but 
drive  about,  always  looking  for  a  good  place  to 
locate,  but  never  finding  one  to  their  satisfaction ; 
so  they  only  stopped  here  and  there  to  earn  enough 
money  to  carry  them  to  the  next  place. 

Having  satisfied  our  curiosity  regarding  our 
neighbors,  and  picked  up  a  few  bits  of  valuable  ad- 
vice about  camping  in  the  desert  country,  we  started 
on,  driving  to  within  about  nine  miles  of  Pomona, 
where  we  camped  alongside  of  the  road  —  which  was 
also  by  the  side  of  the  railroad  track  —  having  made 
about  twenty-five  miles  the  first  day. 

The  Doctor  and  Bob  had  taken  turns  riding 
Dixie,  and  I  had  done  the  driving.  This  was  to  be 
our  regular  procedure.  During  this,  our  first  day 
out,  we  had  put  into  working  operation  our  plans 
for  the  trip.  Bob  was  to  do  the  cooking  and  I  was 
to  do  the  driving  and  take  care  of  the  horses.  We 
had  also  begun  to  get  acquainted  with  the  horses. 
[24] 


Getting    Started 

It  is  a  good  deal  of  a  lottery  to  pick,  out  of  a  strange 
bunch,  suitable  horses  for  such  a  trip,  and  as  so 
much  of  the  success  of  the  journey  depended  upon 
our  motive  power,  and  so  much  of  my  reputation 
as  a  horseman  on  the  horses  themselves,  I  was  espe- 
cially interested  in  learning  their  weak  points  as 
early  as  possible.  So  far  they  had  proved  to  be 
fearless,  and  as  the  night  camp  alongside  of  the 
railroad  track  with  trains  passing  under  their  very 
noses,  so  to  speak,  had  failed  to  arouse  signs  of 
nervousness  in  any  of  them,  I  began  to  feel  that 
they  could  be  depended  upon  not  to  stampede. 
Whether  they  could  be  relied  upon  in  a  pinch  to 
pull  us  out  of  a  bad  place,  and  if  they  had  good 
tempers  or  not,  we  had  yet  to  learn. 

At  this  camp  we  tried  for  the  first  time  our  coal 
oil  stove,  and  pronounced  it  a  decided  success.  Our 
bed  was  made  upon  the  ground  by  putting  down 
our  tarpaulin  beside  the  wagon.  Upon  it  we  rolled 
ourselves  in  our  blankets,  Tuck,  the  dog,  sleeping 
at  our  feet  and  watching  the  camp  and  horses,  giv- 
ing us  notice  if  anything  went  wrong. 

Our  bill  of  fare  was  to  consist  principally,  Avhen 
we  could  get  them,  of  bacon  and  eggs,  and  bread 
[25] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

and  butter.  Our  staples  were  canned  beans,  prunes, 
apricots,  oatmeal,  rice,  and  crackers,  in  addition  to 
which  we  carried,  of  course,  salt,  pepper,  sugar, 
and  condensed  cream  —  and  honey  also,  when  we 
could  get  it.  We  did  not  take  any  coffee  and  con- 
fined ourselves  to  tea  for  a  beverage,  except  when 
we  made  lemonade.  This  first  '^amp  was  rather  im- 
promptu, so  to  speak,  as  we  had  not  yet  become 
accustomed  to  our  outfit  and  had  not  arranged  our 
belongings  so  as  to  get  at  things  quickly,  but  be- 
fore many  days  we  had  a  place  for  everything  and 
could  find  what  we  wanted  in  the  dark. 

Sunday  morning,  May  fifteenth,  our  first  morn- 
ing in  camp,  was  without  any  special  interest.  It 
seemed  better  to  go  on  than  to  stay  in  such  a  bare 
spot  beside  the  railroad  track  on  the  public  high- 
way, so  we  packed  up  and  moved  on,  driving  through 
Pomona  and  Ontario,  then  going  north  to  what  is 
called  the  "  Upper  Road,"  through  Highlands  and 
Cuycamonga,  and  about  6  p.  m.  camped  among  some 
pepper  trees,  opposite  a  winery.  The  roads  up  to 
this  point  Avere  good,  but  as  we  were  going  up  grade 
all  the  time  we  did  not  drive  very  fast ;  in  fact,  with 
the  load  we  had,  the  horses  walked  most  of  the 
[26] 


Getting    Started 

time.  We  made  about  twenty-five  miles  this  day. 
Our  stop  Avas  again  near  a  camp  wagon,  but  this 
time  we  did  not  feel  enough  interest  in  our  neigh- 
bors to  visit  them,  and  after  an  early  supper  and 
seeing  that  the  horses  were  securely  fastened  for 
the  night,  we  turned  in,  planning  to  get  an  early 
start  in  the  morning. 

Monday  morning,  the  sixteenth,  found  us  up 
early,  as  planned.  We  expected  to  drive  to  San 
Bernardino,  which  we  figured  was  about  twelve 
miles,  and  buy  a  few  provisions  and  then  start 
north  for  Cajon  Pass,  expecting  to  make  our  noon 
camp  somewhere  near  the  mountains.  Usually  we 
were  able  to  make  our  camps  about  as  planned,  but 
this  morning  we  were  delayed. 

Our  start  was  made  auspiciously,  a  beautiful  morn- 
ing with  everybody,  including  the  dog,  in  good 
spirits.  Our  first  four  miles  were  through  vine- 
yards just  coming  into  full  leaf,  and  we  had  been 
wondering  how  grapes  could  be  raised  in  sand,  and 
how  few  years  it  had  been  since  this  particular  piece 
of  ground  was  a  veritable  sandy  desert,  when  a 
puff  of  wind  nearly  capsized  the  wagon,  and  it  seemed 
to  be  getting  foggy  over  the  valley.  Next  I  real- 
[27] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

ized  that  the  air  was  full  of  sand,  and  to  keep  the 
wagon  from  blowing  over  we  had  to  take  the  sheet 
off.  Before  we  had  time  to  turn  around  and  drive 
back  to  the  protection  of  the  trees  on  the  high- 
land, which  we  had  just  left,  a  sand  storm  was  upon 
us,  or  what  they  call  in  that  country  a  "  Santa 
Anna."  The  horses  insisted  on  turning  their  backs 
to  the  wind  and  Bob,  who  was  only  fifty  feet  ahead 
on  Dixie,  could  not  be  seen.  He  rode  back  along- 
side the  wagon  and  after  a  parley  lasting  about 
thirty  seconds  we  decided  to  push  on,  and,  if  pos- 
sible, to  reach  the  higher  ground  and  the  protection 
of  the  trees  on  the  other  side  rather  than  go  back. 

Having  spent  some  time  in  this  vicinity  a  few 
years  before,  I  knew  there  was  no  probability  of  the 
storm  abating  for  hours,  and  that  we  would  have 
to  drive  only  about  four  miles  to  get  out  of  its 
path,  for  it  was  coming  out  of  the  mouth  of  a 
canyon  to  the  north  of  us.  So  we  pushed  on, 
blinded  and  choked  with  sand,  forcing  the  horses  to 
keep  the  road,  and  finally,  after  what  seemed  like 
hours,  we  drove  up  and  out  of  the  storm,  and  could 
catch  our  breath  and  look  around. 

Not  having  a  mirror  handy  we  could  not  tell  how 
[28] 


Getting    Started 


& 


sandy  we  looked,  but  we  knew  how  sandy  we  felt, 
and  laughed  at  each  other's  appearance  until  we 
cried  the  sand  out  of  our  eyes,  and  then  decided  to 
stop  at  the  first  convenient  place  and  clean  up  be- 
fore going  into  town.  This  cleaning-up  process  took 
so  long  that  it  was  noontime  before  we  reached  San 
Bernardino,  and  we  pitched  camp  that  night  about 
where  we  had  expected  to  stop  for  lunch.  "  If  we  are 
to  encounter  a  sand  storm  on  the  desert  worse  than 
this  one,"  we  said,  "  we  shall  feel  sorry  for  our- 
selves." 

The  country  we  have  come  through  thus  far,  from 
Los  Angeles  to  San  Bernardino,  about  sixty-two  or 
sixty-three  miles,  is  doubtless  the  most  thickly  set- 
tled valley  of  California,  and  probably  has  the  most 
valuable  improvements.  Outside  the  towns  and 
villages,  the  land  is  completely  taken  up  by  orange, 
lemon,  and  walnut  groves,  besides  vineyards,  inter- 
spersed with  fields  of  alfalfa.  Nearly  every  one  has 
electric  light  and  telephone,  and  ample  transporta- 
tion is  furnished  by  three  steam  roads  and  many 
street  railway  and  interurban  lines. 

From  where  we  camped  to-night  we  could  look 
down  over  this  valley,  from  which,  as  it  grew  dark, 
[29] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

the  lights  came  out  hke  so  many  stars,  and  we 
reahze  that  it  will  be  many  days  before  we  will  again 
be  in  sight  of  green  fields  and  civilization,  for  to- 
morrow we  are  to  leave  all  this  behind  and  cross  the 
San  Bernardino  range  of  mountains  on  our  way  to 
Daggett  in  the  Mojave  Desert. 


SO 


Chapter   II 

We     Get     a     Taste     of     the     Desert 

TUESDAY,  May  seventeenth,  our  first  morning 
in  a  real  camp  "  away  from  anywhere,"  as 
the  Doctor  said,  was  started  in  true  camping  style. 
We  were  up  at  four-thirty,  each  busy  at  his  par- 
ticular work.  Bob  getting  breakfast,  the  Doctor 
packing  the  wagon,  preparatory  to  starting,  and 
greasing  the  axles  (this  was  done  regularly  every 
other  day),  and  I  had  the  horses  to  look  after. 
Then  came  breakfast,  and  after  that,  while  the 
dishes  were  being  washed  and  odds  and  ends  put 
into  the  wagon,  I  harnessed  the  horses,  hitched  them 
to  the  wagon,  put  the  lead  harness  on  Dixie,  and 
we  were  ready  to  start. 

We  had  been  travelling  east,  but  here  we  were 
to  turn  north  across  the  mountains,  through  Hes- 
peria  and  Victor  to  Daggett.  As  yet  we  had  not 
had  the  harness  on  Dixie,  although  we  had  been 
assured  that  she  was  broken  to  drive,  but  whether 
[31] 


T  Ii  e    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

she  would  work  in  the  lead  and  pull  was  a  question 
which  was  soon  to  be  answered.  Climbing  into  my 
seat  and  picking  up  the  lines,  I  let  off  a  whoop  and 
the  brake  at  the  same  time,  while  the  Doctor  let 
fly  a  handful  of  pebbles,  and  we  were  off.  We  got 
into  the  road  safely  and  by  the  time  we  had  made 
a  few  miles  up  the  mountain  trail  we  concluded  our 
lead  horse  would  do. 

The  road  followed  a  mountain  stream,  winding 
ever  upward,  sometimes  on  a  level  with  the  stream, 
but  usually  cut  out  of  the  side  of  the  mountain. 
Behind  us  we  caught  glimpses  of  mountains  and 
valleys,  and  realized  we  were  climbing  up  rapidly, 
but  iinally  we  got  so  far  into  the  mountains  that 
we  could  see  very  little,  and  our  attention  was  given 
up  entirely  to  the  road  and  the  horses.  Bob  and 
the  Doctor  walked  ahead  to  lighten  the  load  and 
signal  back  if  any  teams  were  coming  down,  so  that 
we  could  pick  out  a  safe  place  to  pass.  Noon 
brought  us  to  a  sandy  place  beside  the  stream,  here 
only  a  rivulet,  where  we  stopped  for  lunch. 

While  smoking  our  pipes  in  the  shade,  an  auto- 
mobile went  by,  going  up.  The  ladies  waved  their 
handkerchiefs  at  us  and,  as  they  disappeared  around 
[32] 


We   Get   a   Taste  of  the  Desert 

a  bend  in  the  road,  some  one  remarked,  "  That 
looks  easy;  I  guess  the  road  ahead  must  be  good." 
We  promptly  forgot  the  incident  until  the  Doctor 
said,  "  I  can  still  hear  that  machine.  I  wonder 
why  they  are  not  farther  away  by  this  time." 
After  listening  a  few  minutes  we  decided  something 
was  wrong  with  the  machine,  so  we  all  went  up  the 
road  and  soon  found  the  party  in  the  sand,  where 
the  auto  had  stuck  in  crossing  the  stream,  and  they 
were  unable  to  get  it  up  the  bank.  As  we  came  up 
we  found  all  four  of  the  ladies  pushing  and  the  man 
working  with  the  engine,  while  a  baby  was  peacefully 
asleep  in  the  tonneau.  We  went  promptly  to  the 
rescue  and  after  a  few  minutes  had  them  out  on 
solid  ground  again.  The  man  then  asked  us  how 
much  he  owed  us.  The  Doctor  told  him  in  his  dry 
way,  "  About  a  thousand  dollars,  but  if  you  do  not 
happen  to  have  anything  as  small  as  that  about  you, 
you  can  settle  the  next  time  you  see  us."  The  ex- 
pression on  the  young  man's  face  for  a  minute  was 
quite  laughable,  but  he  seemed  to  sense  the  situa- 
tion finally,  for  a  smile  broke  over  his  face,  and 
with  many  thanks  and  "  Good  luck ! "  from  every- 
body they  were  off. 

[33] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

We  went  back  to  the  wagon,  and,  the  horses  hav- 
ing had  sufficient  rest,  started  on  with  all  three  of 
them  in  harness,  and  reached  the  summit  at  3:30 
p.  M.  Here  we  had  a  magnificent  view  of  the  moun- 
tains, some  of  which  were  snow-capped,  and  after 
a  few  minutes  we  started  on  again,  driving  down  to 
Hesperia,  through  a  miniature  forest  composed  of 
giant  cacti  and  juniper.  On  the  way  down  we  saw 
several  pair  of  valley  quail,  some  doves,  and  a  few 
rabbits,  which  was  all  the  game  we  had  seen. 

At  Hesperia,  which  is  on  the  railroad,  we  filled 
our  water  barrels  and  camped  alongside  of  the 
trail,  about  a  mile  from  the  station  and  eight  miles 
from  Victor.  As  near  as  we  could  figure  we  had 
driven  twenty-five  miles,  which  we  considered  a  very 
good  day's  work  in  view  of  the  long  climb  we  had 
made. 

The  next  morning  we  were  up  at  four-thirty  and 
off  at  six-forty-five,  arriving  at  Victorville  at  eight- 
thirty.  The  first  person  I  saw  as  we  drove  into  the 
little  railroad  town  was  the  young  man  who  had 
driven  the  auto  we  had  helped  out  of  the  sand  the 
day  before.  He  hailed  us  gayly  and  insisted  on  our 
climbing  down  and  "  going  inside,"  which  we 
{Si] 


V 


CACTI      FOREST 


We    Get    a    Taste   of   the   Desert 

promptly  did.  Later  we  repaired  to  the  general 
store,  where  we  purchased  a  canteen,  having  acci- 
dentally run  the  wagon  over  ours  the  evening  be- 
fore, and  also  some  baled  hay  and  grain.  Then  we 
mailed  our  letters  and  half  filled  our  water  barrels 
before  starting  on  to  Daggett,  forty  miles  away 
over  the  desert. 

As  we  understood  there  was  a  good  water  hole 
and  camp  site  about  half  way,  we  thought  it  un- 
necessary to  take  any  more  water.  We  reached  the 
water  without  difficulty  by  6  p.  m.,  although  we  met 
no  one  on  the  trail  and  were  in  doubt  once  or  twice 
as  to  which  fork  to  take.  We  found  it  a  good  place 
to  camp  on  account  of  the  water,  but  that  was  all. 
There  was  just  a  small  covered  tank  over  a  spring 
in  a  bare  little  desert  valley,  without  even  a  tree 
or  a  bush  in  sight.  It  had  one  advantage  over 
previous  camps,  however.  Doves  by  the  hundred 
came  here  to  drink  and  in  a  short  time  we  shot  all 
we  wanted  for  breakfast. 

The  next  morning  we  had  a  comparatively  easy 
road  down  grade  into  Daggett,  twenty-two  miles, 
where  we  arrived  at  11 :30  a.  m. 

There  was  nothing  especially  interesting  about 
[35] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

these  towns  through  which  we  had  passed;  Hesperia 
was  merely  a  handful  of  people;  Victorville  had  a 
few  more  and  seemed  quite  prosperous.  It  is  on 
the  banks  of  the  Mojave  River,  which  at  this  point 
is  fully  a  hundred  yards  wide,  but  shallow  and 
muddy,  with  a  considerable  fringe  of  trees  in  places 
along  the  banks.  At  Daggett,  however,  the  river 
had  about  disappeared,  and  a  few  miles  farther 
east  was  entirely  lost  in  the  sand. 

Here  at  Daggett  we  decided  to  rest  our  horses 
and  take  stock,  so  to  speak.  We  found  among  our 
luggage  a  tent  and  two  cots  which  we  apparently 
would  have  no  need  of  until  we  reached  Grand  Junc- 
tion, Colorado,  where  we  expected  to  have  an  ad- 
dition of  four  to  our  party,  so  we  decided  to  send 
them  on  to  this  point  by  freight  and  thus  lighten 
our  load  by  seventy-five  pounds. 

Having  put  our  horses  and  wagon  in  a  corral, 
we  began  to  make  inquiries  regarding  the  road  to 
Las  Vegas,  Nevada,  but  could  get  no  definite  infor- 
mation. We  were  told  we  could  not  cross  the  desert 
directly,  but  would  have  to  go  around  the  south 
end.  This  meant  going  in  a  circle  and,  as  the  line 
we  had  drawn  on  the  map  went  straight,  we  de- 
[36] 


We    Get   a   Taste  of  the  Desert 

clined  to  go  around,  and  were  conferring  with  some 
old  prospectors  on  the  feasibihty  of  crossing  the 
desert  when  we  heard  of  a  man  who  had  just  come 
in  from  Las  Vegas.  We  did  not  bother  to  make 
any  more  inquiries  then  and  decided  to  interview  the 
man  from  Las  Vegas  the  first  thing  in  the  morn- 
ing. I  slept  in  the  wagon  at  night,  but  being  in 
town  the  Doctor  and  Bob  thought  it  would  be  a 
good  idea  to  try  beds,  to  see  if  they  were  softer  than 
the  sand,  but  the  next  morning  they  pronounced 
them  not  much  of  an  improvement. 

We  found  the  man  we  were  looking  for  shortly 
after  breakfast  at  the  corral,  where  we  had  left 
our  horses.  He  told  us  his  name  was  Knowles.  He 
certainly  looked  as  if  he  had  been  through  some- 
thing strenuous.  His  eyes  were  bloodshot  and  he 
was  a  nervous  wreck.  He  said  he  had  come  from 
Las  Vegas  and  had  driven  across  en  route  to  Los 
Angeles.  He  had  a  good  team,  a  light  farm  wagon, 
but  nothing  in  it  save  a  water  barrel,  some  bedding, 
and  a  dog.  He  seemed  so  mixed  in  his  dates  that 
it  was  hard  to  get  any  reliable  information  from 
him.  He  said  it  was  just  an  accident  he  had  got 
through.  He  had  been  lost  and  stuck  in  the  sand 
[37] 

27719S 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

and  forced  to  abandon  his  load,  when  by  good 
hick  he  came  to  the  Salt  Lake  Railroad.  Here  the 
sand  was  so  deep  that  his  horses  could  not  pull  the 
empty  wagon,  so  he  drove  up  to  the  railroad  track, 
and,  as  there  were  no  trains  running  (the  road  hav- 
ing been  washed  out  for  eighty  miles  above  Las 
Vegas  early  in  the  Spring),  he  drove  on  the  track 
until  he  reached  Daggett,  a  distance  of  about  sixty 
miles.  He  did  not  dare  to  leave  the  railroad  for 
fear  that  he  would  get  lost,  and  he  found  water  at 
the  little  deserted  section  houses  he  passed  every 
twenty  or  thirty  miles.  He  said  that  with  a  big 
wagon  and  load  we  could  not  get  through,  and  ad- 
vised us  not  to  try. 

We  concluded  that  if  he  had  got  through  alone  we 
could  go  through,  even  with  a  heavier  load,  and  in 
return  for  the  questionable  information  he  had  given 
us  we  told  him  how  to  get  to  Los  Angeles,  and  as- 
sured him  that  his  troubles  were  over.  He  gave 
as  much  heed  to  our  directions  as  we  gave  to  his, 
as  we  afterwards  found  out,  but  we  parted  without 
disclosing  our  incredulity  to  each  other. 

The  Doctor  and  I  rode  a  freight  train  down  to 
Barstow  to  get  our  mail  and  a  few  provisions  that 
[38] 


We    Get    a   Taste   of   the   Desert 

we  could  not  get  at  Daggett,  and  while  there  who 
should  we  see  driving  up  the  main  street  but 
Knowles,  our  desert  traveller!  We  hailed  him  and 
asked  him  why  he  had  come  to  Barstow.  He  seemed 
quite  ashamed  at  being  discovered,  but  reluctantly 
admitted  that  he  had  intended  heeding  our  instruc- 
tions and  had  followed  the  road  along  the  railroad 
track  as  directed,  until  he  came  to  the  left- 
hand  fork  which  went  south  over  the  desert  hills 
to  Victor.  He  could  not,  however,  trust  himself  to 
leave  the  railroad  track  for  fear  of  getting  lost 
again  and  perhaps  running  out  of  water.  He  said 
that  he  knew  the  railroad  went  to  Victor  and  he 
had  decided  finally  to  follow  it  even  if  it  was  a 
longer  route.  We  saw  our  word  would  n't  go  so  we 
called  some  natives  into  the  conference,  and  they 
assured  him  we  were  right.  They  told  him  he  could 
not  follow  the  railroad  as  there  was  no  wagon  bridge 
across  the  river  except  at  Victor,  and  that  even  if 
he  could  get  across  here  at  Barstow  he  would  have 
a  long  weary  route  ahead  of  him,  and  would  not 
reach  Victor  for  at  least  two  days.  So  he  reluctantly 
turned  about  and  went  back  to  the  south  fork  in 
the  road,  and  we  presume  he  went  that  way  as  we 
[39] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

never  saw  him  again,  but  it  must  have  taken  a 
great  deal  of  fortitude  on  his  part.  Lose  a  man  in 
the  desert  and,  I  imagine,  he  won't  want  to  try  an- 
other stretch  of  desert  in  the  same  week,  especially 
alone;  so  we  did  not  blame  him  very  much  for  in- 
sisting on  following  the  railroad  track. 

We  got  back  to  Daggett  shortly  after  noon 
on  a  passenger  train  and  hunted  up  the  old  pros- 
pectors again.  They  were  the  sort  who  had  always 
been  in  the  desert  and  knew  all  about  it,  to  hear 
them  tell  it,  but  for  the  past  twenty  years  had 
probably  sat  around  the  corner  store  and  saloon 
and  told  stories  to  tenderfeet  about  its  mysteries. 
When  we  told  them  of  Knowles'  experience  and 
asked  their  advice  they  looked  very  solemn,  and 
each  in  turn  took  refuge  behind  the  other  by  asking 
him  which  of  the  many  routes  we  ought  to  take,  un- 
til they  had  gone  the  rounds  and  got  back  to  the 
first  old  party  again,  who  in  desperation  referred  us 
to  some  one  else  who  was  n't  there. 

This   was    so    amusing   that   we   forgot   we   were 

wasting  time  and  went  prospecting  around  town  for 

the  man  who  knew,  and  finally  located  him  and  told 

our  story.     He  assured  us  Knowles  had  taken  the 

[40] 


We   Get   a   Taste  of  the  Desert 

wrong  road;  he  should  have  stayed  away  from  the 
railroad  because  it  went  through  the  worst  sand 
and  had  no  feed  anywhere  along  the  line.  He  then 
drew  a  diagram  showing  how  we  should  go  east 
through  the  Mojave  Canyon,  then  northeast  and 
skirt  the  foot  of  the  Soda  Mountains  to  a  spring 
on  Soda  Lake,  and  then  follow  the  old  prospectors' 
trail  east  to  Good  Springs,  from  where  we  could 
follow  the  railroad  to  Las  Vegas,  Nevada.  He  said 
we  could  not  lose  the  trail  and  that  it  had  several 
springs  and  water  holes,  so  that  we  could  get  through 
safely.  He  wound  up,  however,  by  saying  that  he 
had  not  been  over  this  trail  for  ten  or  fifteen  years, 
but  that  it  was  a  good  trail  the  last  time  he  went 
over  it. 

This  information,  while  not  especially  reassuring, 
we  thought  sufficient  to  at  least  make  a  start,  as  we 
would  no  doubt  find  some  one  on  the  trail  who  could 
put  us  right  if  we  went  wrong,  so  at  3 :30  p.  m.  we 
hitched  up  and  started  on  a  leg  of  our  journey 
that  came  near  being  our  Waterloo. 


[41] 


Chapter    III 

The     Real     Thing     in     Deserts 

IT  is  ahnost  impossible  to  describe  the  country 
we  found  ourselves  in  as  we  started  out  from 
Daggett  on  the  afternoon  of  May  twentieth,  be- 
cause, to  use  a  home-made  expression,  "  it  does  not 
sound  at  all  as  it  looks."  We  are  to  follow  the 
Mojave  River  Valley  until  we  get  through  the 
Mojave  Canyon,  then  go  north  around  the  base  of 
the  Soda  Mountains,  etc.,  as  per  directions.  Now 
the  above  sounds  easy.  It  makes  one  think  of 
water  running  down  hill,  and  with  water  the  moun- 
tains should  have  trees  among  the  rocks,  as  a 
canyon  suggests  a  rocky  country. 

The  real  picture,  however,  which  presented  itself 
to  us  that  afternoon  was  a  desolate,  wind-swept 
country ;  the  valley  looked  like  a  wide  rolling  stretch 
of  desert,  flanked  by  bare  hills,  with  no  sign  of  a 
river.  It  was  so  cold  that  even  with  our  coats  on 
we  were  none  too  comfortable.  The  wind  blew  so 
[42] 


PROVISIONED    FOR    THE    DESERT 


The    Real    Thing    in    Deserts 

hard  we  had  to  take  the  canvas  off  the  wagon,  and 
after  going  about  ten  miles  we  made  camp  for  the 
night  at  a  place  where  the  trail  took  us  close  to 
a  deserted  railroad  section  house,  which  had  a  well. 
These  railroad  wells  are  really  cisterns,  but  in- 
stead of  being  built  to  catch  rain  water,  are  de- 
signed to  hold  the  water  that  the  Salt  Lake  R.  R. 
hauls  in  tank  cars  and  distributes  regularly  to  the 
section  men.  These  section  houses  were  located 
about  twenty  or  thirty  miles  apart  and  about  every 
other  one  had  a  well.  The  others  had  a  few  barrels, 
so,  as  we  afterwards  found  out,  if  one  came  to  the 
railroad  track  he  knew  that  by  following  it  fifteen 
or  twenty  miles  he  would  probably  find  a  deserted 
section  house  with  a  few  pails  of  water  left  in  a 
barrel,  or  perhaps  a  well  with  a  few  barrels  of 
water,  and  possibly  a  section  crew  that  had  not 
been  laid  off.  In  the  latter  case  you  could  find  out 
how  far  it  was  to  the  next  water.  The  water  in  the 
railroad  wells  was  very  good,  but  where  the  com- 
pany found  enough  water  to  fill  the  big  tank  cars 
they  evidently  sent  over  the  line  when  the  road  was 
running,  no  one  seemed  to  know.  We  concluded, 
however,  that  it  came  from  KeLso,  California,  or  Las 
[43] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

Vegas,  Nevada,  where  we  found  out  later  they  had 
water  tanks  and  plenty  of  good  water.  We  had  met 
no  one  since  leaving  Daggett  who  could  tell  us  about 
the  trail  ahead,  but  with  plenty  of  water  we  felt 
cheerful  enough  and  expected  to  make  a  good  many 
miles  the  next  day,  so  turned  in  to  get  an  early 
start. 

Saturday  morning,  May  twenty-first,  we  found  we 
had  lost  our  canteen.  It  was  so  cold  and  windy 
the  afternoon  before  that  we  had  n't  needed  the  can- 
teen and  in  taking  the  sheet  off  the  wagon  we  must 
have  pulled  it  off,  but  where  and  when  we  didn't 
know.  Having  plenty  of  water  to  start  with  we 
concluded  we  could  pick  up  another  canteen  or  im- 
provise one,  so  we  did  not  go  back  far  to  look  for 
it,  but  started  out  to  get  over  as  much  ground  as 
possible. 

There  was  no  air  stirring;  it  warmed  up  early 
and  later  got  hot.  The  sand  made  it  hard  pulling 
and  finally,  at  11  a.  m.,  we  reached  another  de- 
serted section  house.  There  was  a  well  and  bucket, 
and,  while  there  was  no  shade  and  the  heat  was 
intense,  we  managed  to  keep  fairly  comfortable  by 
lying  under  the  wagon   and   recalling  how  cool  it 

[  44  1 


The    Real    Thing    in    Deserts 

had  been  the  day  before.  Our  dog,  Tuck,  seemed  to 
feel  the  heat  more  than  we  did,  or  the  horses,  but 
it  was  principally  because  we  had  hard  work  keep- 
ing him  in  the  wagon.  If  he  saw  anything  move, 
from  a  coyote  to  a  lizard,  he  would  jump  out  of  the 
wagon  and  undertake  to  catch  it.  The  lizards  would 
disappear  in  the  sand  and  the  coyotes  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  Tuck  would  be  hot  for  an  hour  or  two 
afterward. 

About  2  p.  M.  we  started  on  again,  this  time 
driving  spike,  as  the  sand  was  getting  harder  to 
pull  through  and  it  took  all  three  horses  to  do  it. 
By  evening  we  had  reached  what  is  called  the  can- 
yon of  the  Mojave  River.  Here  we  camped  in  the 
bed  of  the  river,  which  at  this  place  was  a  mere  rivu- 
let. The  river  bed,  however,  was  about  two  hun- 
dred yards  wide,  full  of  gravel  and  stones,  with 
occasionally  a  big  boulder.  Willows  grew  in  patches 
on  the  banks,  and  here  and  there  a  cottonwood. 
On  each  side  the  bare  mountains  had  edged  up  to 
the  bank,  and  we  had  a  shut-in  feeling.  The  river, 
however,  small  as  it  was  at  this  time,  no  doubt 
rushed  through  here  at  times,  carrying  a  large 
volume  of  water  out  into  the  desert  beyond. 
[45] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

Having  picked  out  a  place  to  camp,  where  there 
were  no  rocks,  we  proceeded  to  get  supper,  while 
Tuck  raced  up  and  down  in  what  little  water  there 
was  in  the  river  and  had  a  glorious  time.  We  were 
tired  with  the  heat  and  sand,  and  so  were  the  horses, 
but  after  supper  we  decided  to  take  a  swim;  at 
least  that  is  what  we  said,  but  the  reader  can 
imagine  we  did  not  swim  much  in  a  stream  four  feet 
wide  and  three  inches  deep.  It  was  quite  a  grotesque 
sight  to  see  three  men  trying  to  take  a  bath  in  such 
a  stream  by  the  light  of  the  moon.  In  fact  we 
laughed  a  great  deal  ourselves,  but  we  were  so  long 
at  it,  and  it  grew  cold  so  fast,  that  we  were  shiver- 
ing before  we  got  back  to  the  wagon.  Such  is  the 
difference  in  temperature  between  night  and  day  in 
this   countr3\ 

Sunday,  the  twenty-second,  we  started  early  so  as 
to  get  through  the  canyon  and  out  into  the  open 
desert  before  it  should  get  too  hot.  It  was  a  hard 
drive  of  six  miles  over  rocks  and  through  sand 
down  the  river  bed,  which,  very  soon  after  starting, 
we  found  had  lost  even  the  small  stream  of  water 
which  had  been  so  welcome  at  our  camp  site.  The 
walls  of  the  canyon  became  quite  rocky  and  in  spots 
[46] 


ENTERING  THE  MOJAVE  CANYON 


The    Real    Thing    in    Deserts 

sheer  walls  of  stone,  and  in  the  narrowest  place  we 
found  the  railroad  track  above  us  passing  through 
tunnels  and  over  bridges,  as  this  canyon  through 
which  the  river  flows  (when  it  does  flow)  is  the  only 
way  the  railroad  could  get  through  these  mountains 
at  this  point.  We  supposed  they  were  part  of  what 
is  called  the  Soda  Mountains. 

At  this  point  in  the  canyon  we  saw  a  section 
house  and  climbed  up  to  see  if  they  had  any  water. 
We  found  a  man  and  his  wife  and  daughter. 
They  had  only  about  half  a  barrel  of  water  fit  to 
drink,  but  allowed  us  what  we  wanted  for  that  pur- 
pose. They  also  had  two  canteens,  and  after  a 
parley  sold  us  one.  After  our  previous  experience 
in  losing  two  canteens,  we  were  careful  not  to  lose 
this  one  and  luckily  brought  it  all  the  way  through. 
Besides  being  kind  enough  to  let  us  have  the  can- 
teen, they  told  us  that  the  Company  was  now 
running  a  train  each  day  between  Las  Vegas  and 
Daggett,  and  that  there  was  a  tank  car  containing  a 
little  water  on  a  spur  track  in  the  desert  about  five 
miles  from  there,  so  we  started  on  much  encouraged. 
We  had  a  canteen  and  were  only  five  miles  from  a 
tank  car  with  water  in  it ! 

[47] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

Within  a  mile  we  emerged  from  the  canyon,  the 
mountains  receded  to  the  north  and  south,  and  we 
surveyed  a  vast  plain  of  sand.  There  was  no  sign 
of  a  trail,  however,  so  we  pushed  out  into  the  sand, 
which  seemed  to  have  no  bottom.  The  wheels  of  the 
wagon,  although  having  wide  tires,  sank  to  such  a 
depth  that  at  times  we  were  "four  spokes  in  the 
sand,"  and  a  hundred  yards  was  about  as  far  as  the 
horses  could  pull  the  wagon  at  a  time.  The 
Doctor  and  Bob  walked  to  lighten  the  load,  and  it 
was  n't  very  long  before  we  began  to  realize  that  we 
were  up  against  it  hard.  The  heat  was  intense,  and 
the  sun  on  the  white  sand  would  have  blinded  us 
soon  if  we  had  not  put  on  our  smoked  glasses. 

After  plodding  along  at  a  snail's  pace  for  an 
hour  or  two,  the  Doctor  said,  "  Well,  I  can  see  our 
finish  unless  we  get  out  of  this  pretty  soon,"  and 
Bob  suggested  that  we  turn  back.  To  turn  back, 
however,  meant  miles  to  water,  and  we  had  just 
sighted  the  tank  car.  It  lay  off  south  of  us  about 
a  mile  and,  although  we  still  had  some  water  in  our 
barrels,  we  needed  more  if  we  were  to  go  back  or 
forward,  cither  one.  It  was  cruel  to  ask  the  horses 
to  pull  the  wagon  even  two  miles  farther  than  neces- 
[48] 


EMERGING     INTO    THE     DESERT 


The    Real    Thing    in    Deserts 

sary,  through  heat  and  sand,  so  the  Doctor  and  I 
volunteered  to  take  two  pails  each  and  see  if  there 
really  was  any  water  in  the  car.  It  seemed  foolish 
to  expect  to  find  water  in  that  car  out  there  in  the 
burning  sandy  waste,  and  the  nearer  we  came  to  it 
the  more  unreasonable  it  appeared.  We  did  find 
water  in  it,  however,  and  although  it  was  hot,  it  was 
good  water,  and  after  filling  our  four  pails  we  man- 
aged to  get  back  to  the  wagon  and  add  this  much  to 
our  supply. 

From  here  we  were  supposed  to  follow  the  trail 
north  around  the  base  of  the  Soda  Mountains,  but 
as  yet  there  was  no  trail,  so  we  had  to  decide  on 
some  plan  at  once.  There  seemed  to  be  three  things 
we  might  do:  The  first  was  to  go  back.  This  we 
refused  to  do.  The  second  was  to  go  south  to  the 
Salt  Lake  Railroad  and  follow  it  east.  This  was 
Knowles'  advice  to  us  and,  as  we  had  declined  to 
take  it  before,  we  stood  pat.  The  third  and  only 
thing  left  for  us  to  do  was  to  go  north,  which  we 
did,  looking  for  the  trail  the  old  prospector  told  us 
was  there  somewhere,  and  which  would  take  us 
around  to  a  spring  above  Soda  Lake. 

So  slow  was  our  progress  through  the  sand  that 
[49] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

we  soon  grew  nervous  over  it.  In  fact,  I  think  we 
all  became  somewhat  alarmed  over  the  situation. 
It  was  very  hot  and  we  seemed  getting  farther  from 
anywhere,  so  that  when  we  stopped  for  lunch  and 
had  not  yet  found  any  signs  of  a  trail,  we  decided 
to  make  a  "  B  "  line  for  the  mountains  with  the  hope 
that  we  might  at  least  find  better  going,  if  we  did  n't 
find  the  trail. 

Before  starting,  however,  I  decided  to  go  over 
and  climb  the  nearest  foothill  and  see  if  I  could  see 
Soda  Lake.  It  was  probably  only  a  mile,  but  I  had 
to  stop  several  times  and  lie  down  to  get  my  head 
in  the  shade  of  a  bush,  of  which  there  were  quite  a 
number  growing  in  the  sand  near  the  mountains. 
Arriving  at  a  small  sand  hill,  I  climbed  up  to  where 
a  bush  was  growing  and  lay  down  with  my  head 
under  it,  and  surveyed  the  mountains  ahead  and  the 
desert  at  the  south,  but  no  sign  of  a  lake  or  trail 
did  I  see.  Then  I  saw  through  a  gap  in  the  moun- 
tains a  valley,  with  a  lake  in  the  centre  and  two 
tents  on  the  bank.  This,  I  concluded,  was  a  mirage. 
I  looked  away  and  tried  to  assure  myself  that  when 
I  should  look  again  the  valley  would  be  gone ;  but  it 
was  still  there  when  I  looked  again,  and  I  could  see 
[50] 


The    Real    Thing    in    Deserts 

a  trail  winding  down  to  it.  I  went  to  examine  the 
trail,  which  was  real  enough,  so  I  was  sure  I  had 
seen  Soda  Lake,  although  it  seemed  to  be  in  the 
wrong  place.  I  immediately  returned  to  the  wagon 
to  find  I  had  been  gone  two  hours  and  the  boys  were 
afraid  I  was  overcome  by  the  heat  and  were  coming 
to  look  me  up. 

Cheered  with  my  report  of  water  and  camps  in 
sight,  we  all  felt  encouraged,  and  pushed  the  horses 
as  fast  as  possible  through  the  gap  and  down  to  the 
lake,  where  we  found  a  man,  a  few  chickens,  a  dog, 
and  a  mule.  The  man  was  raising  vegetables.  Just 
think  of  it,  in  a  valley  in  the  Soda  Mountains !  The 
lake  was  not  Soda  Lake  after  all,  but  Lake  Crucero. 
He  told  us  Soda  Lake  was  dry,  that  it  was  seven 
miles  east,  and  that  there  was  no  way  to  get  there 
except  through  the  deep  sand,  and  that  when  we  got 
there  we  would  be  nowhere. 

When  we  asked  him  about  the  trail  the  prospector 
had  told  us  of  he  said  that  it  had  been  abandoned 
years  ago ;  the  water  holes  had  dried  up  and,  unless 
we  were  camels,  we  could  never  get  through  that 
way  to  Las  Vegas.  We  were  not  surprised  at 
this ;  in  fact,  we  had  begun  to  think  that  something 
[51] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

was  wrong  with  our  old  prospector's  directions,  as 
it  did  not  seem  possible  any  sane  person  would  ever 
attempt  such  a  desert.  This  man  was  not  very 
talkative,  but  on  being  pressed  to  advise  us  how  he 
would  go  to  Las  Vegas  he  answered  that  he  would  n't 
go,  which  reminded  me  very  much  of  the  old  saying, 
"  If  you  ever  go  to  Arkansas,  don't  go."  We  tried 
another  more  sensible  question  and  asked  him  how 
it  would  be  possible  to  go  by  wagon,  and  in  reply  he 
said  that  it  would  be  possible,  if  our  team  held  out, 
to  drive  southeast  about  seven  miles  to  the  Salt 
Lake  Railroad  and  follow  it  to  Kelso,  about  thirty 
miles.  We  could  get  water  at  the  section  houses  and 
if  we  could  make  thirty  miles  he  thought  we  would 
be  through  the  worst  of  the  sand.  As  there  was 
nothing  else  to  do,  unless  we  went  back,  we  took  his 
advice,  and,  after  watering  the  horses  and  filling 
our  barrels,  we  retraced  our  trail  about  three  miles 
and  camped  at  7  p.  m.  in  the  open  desert  again, 
under  a  full  moon.  If  we  had  not  been  so  tired  we 
could  have  enjoyed  the  night,  but  we  were  worn  out 
by  the  heat  and  sand,  and,  thankful  for  the  cool 
evening,  we  turned  in  and  slept  soundly. 

Monday    morning,    May    twenty-third.      "  Seven 
[52] 


The    Real    Thing    in    Deserts 

miles  southeast  over  the  sand  to  a  section  house  on 
the  railroad,"  were  our  last  instructions  of  the 
night  before,  and  I  am  sure  it  was  all  of  that,  for 
although  we  started  early,  it  was  noon  before  we  got 
there.  The  horses  were  worn  out,  our  water  was 
gone,  and  yet  it  was  surprising  how  we  cheered  up 
when  we  came  in  sight  of  the  section  house,  and  how 
soon  we  forgot  all  our  troubles  after  we  had  filled 
ourselves  and  animals  with  water  and  eaten  our 
lunch. 

After  filling  our  barrels  with  water  and  looking 
at  the  railroad  track  and  section  house,  we  felt  we 
were  safe  for  the  time  being  at  least.  Then  it  was 
we  thought  of  Knowles  and  his  advice  to  stick  by  the 
railroad  track  and  if  we  could  not  pull  through  the 
sand  to  drive  on  the  railroad  track.  Should  we  try 
it?  There  seemed  to  be  no  other  alternative.  It 
was  about  twenty-three  miles  to  Kelso  and  our  team 
was  tired  out.  The  last  day  and  a  half  had  taken 
all  the  life  out  of  them.  Our  feed  was  running  short 
and  we  could  n't  possibly  get  to  the  next  water  sta- 
tion unless  we"  did  try  it. 

Up  we  went,  and  an  odd  sight  we  must  have  pre- 
sented driving  over  the  ties,  bumping  along  at  a 
[53] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

snail's  pace,  but  at  that  we  managed  to  make  about 
five  miles  when  we  came  to  a  few  bunches  of  Grama 
grass  growing  in  the  sand,  and  we  promptly  drove 
off  the  track.  We  had  two  reasons  for  doing  this. 
One  was  on  account  of  the  feed  this  afforded  the 
horses,  and  the  other  was  that  we  figured  the  train 
we  had  been  told  of  was  due  about  this  time,  as  it 
went  up  to  Las  Vegas  at  night  and  back  in  the 
morning,  and  we  had  to  pick  out  a  favorable  place 
to  get  off  the  track,  which  was  more  desirable  than 
being  pushed  off  by  the  cars. 

Here  we  turned  our  horses  loose  for  the  first 
time,  thinking  they  were  too  tired  and  hungry  to 
leave  the  bunch  grass,  and  we  were  right.  They 
did  n't  leave  that  grass,  and  when  it  came  time  to 
turn  in  I  just  hobbled  Dixie  to  be  on  the  safe  side. 
After  this  we  hardly  ever  tied  up  our  horses  unless 
we  were  near  a  town  or  in  a  stock  country  where 
they  might  be  enticed  away  by  other  horses,  but 
before  our  trip  was  over  even  this  was  unnecessary, 
as  we  found  they  could  not  be  driven  very  far  away 
from  the  wagon.  In  fact,  any  horse  we  were  not 
using  would  follow  the  wagon  like  a  dog. 

Our  camp  was  in  sight  of  three  immense  sand 
[54] 


A    DESERT    CAMP 


The    Real    Thing    in    Deserts 

hills  in  a  section  of  the  desert  called  the  Devil's 
Playground.  We  were  told  these  hills  moved  about 
and  that  sand  storms  were  of  frequent  occurrence 
here.  After  supper,  although  it  was  nearly  as 
light  as  day,  the  wind  sprung  up  and  we  were  doubt- 
ful about  the  advisability  of  turning  in,  but  finally 
did  so. 

The  heavens  were  a  wonderful  sight.  The  stars 
seemed  to  hang  low  and  were  more  brilliant  than 
usual.  A  comet  with  a  long  tail  was  plainly  seen 
in  the  west,  and  the  moon  was  rising  over  the  sand 
hills.  We  began  to  speculate  on  the  comet  and,  as 
the  moon  got  above  the  sand  hills  and  the  wind 
freshened,  the  most  remarkable  thing  happened  — 
the  sand  hill  began  to  move  toward  us !  It  kept 
getting  closer,  obscuring  the  moon,  until  it  had 
moved  up  far  enough  to  shut  the  moon  from  our 
sight  entirely.  We  jumped  up  and  each  one  of  us 
was  about  to  take  a  horse  and  ride  for  his  life,  when 
the  Doctor  laughed  and  said,  "  It  is  an  eclipse  of 
the  moon.  Don't  you  see  it 's  coming  out  on  the 
lower  side  again.''"  and  we  rolled  over  laughing  at 
our  fright,  each  claiming  that  he  had  known  It  was 
an  eclipse  all  the  time. 

[55] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

Later  we  found  the  comet  we  had  seen  was  the 
famous  Halley's  Comet  and  were  sorry  some  of  our 
astronomers  had  not  been  with  us,  as  probably  very 
few  of  them  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing  both  the 
eclipse  of  the  moon  and  the  comet  under  such  favor- 
able circumstances. 

We  go  to  sleep  looking  at  the  heavens  and  in  the 
morning,  after  the  train  has  gone  by,  we  start  east 
again.  We  come  to  a  section  house  about  a  mile 
down  the  track,  at  which  we  find  a  section  foreman. 
He  tells  us  it  is  twenty  miles  to  Kelso,  and  the  sand 
is  "  just  as  deep  as  you  can  stick  down  a  cane." 
This  is  not  very  encouraging,  but  we  keep  on  the 
track,  and  finally,  near  time  to  make  camp  for  the 
night,  we  reach  Glasgow,  another  section  house, 
where  we  find  a  water  car. 

We  had  to  drive  off  the  track  here  to  get  by  the 
switches,  and  pulled  through  the  sand  up  to  the 
water  car  in  front  of  the  section  house.  We  very 
nearly  put  the  horses  out  of  business,  so  to  speak, 
pulling  only  a  hundred  yards  at  a  time,  but  got  all 
the  water  we  wanted. 

The  foreman  told  us  we  could  not  drive  on  the 
track  any  farther  as  we  were  cutting  up  the  ties 
[56] 


The    Real    Thing   in    Deserts 

and  the  oil  which  held  the  sand  down.  We  told  him 
that  suited  us ;  we  wanted  to  be  boarded  until  he 
could  get  a  car  and  haul  us  out,  and  that  we  were 
about  out  of  horse  feed.  He  admitted  that  we  could 
not  pull  through  the  sand  and  if  we  could  not  drive 
on  the  track  we  would  have  to  stay  there,  but,  as  the 
railroad  was  not  open  for  regular  business  and  he 
had  no  facilities  for  feeding  us,  he  changed  the  sub- 
ject by  asking  us  if  we  had  got  what  water  we 
wanted.  When  we  told  him  we  had,  he  said,  "  Why 
don't  you  fellows  go  on  then  ?  "  which  we  promptly 
did,  after  thanking  him  for  the  water. 

We  made  only  about  two  miles  more  before  camp- 
ing for  the  night,  and  were  still  thirteen  miles  from 
Kelso.  It  did  not  seem  possible  that  we  could  have 
made  only  about  eight  miles  that  day,  but  as  I 
looked  back  over  the  road  and  remembered  the 
number  of  times  we  had  driven  oif  the  track  to  get 
around  trestle  work,  and  how  hard  we  had  labored 
to  get  back  on  again,  and  how  slow  we  had  to  go  to 
keep  from  jolting  our  wagon  to  pieces,  I  concluded 
that  there  was  sufficient  excuse  and  only  hoped  the 
horses'  shoulders  would  not  get  sore  with  the  jerk- 
ing before  we  could  get  off  the  railroad  for  good. 
[57] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

Besides,  we  must  get  to  a  town  soon  as  we  are  about 
out  of  feed  for  the  horses.  With  a  firm  determina- 
tion to  reach  Kelso  the  next  day  we  rolled  up  in  our 
blankets  and  went  to  sleep  looking  at  the  stars. 

Wednesday,  May  twenty-fifth.  We  were  ready 
to  make  an  early  start  this  morning,  but  did  not 
dare  drive  on  the  railroad  track  until  after  the 
train  had  gone  by,  and  so  had  to  wait  until  8  a.  m. 
Then  we  started  out  and  luckily  met  a  section  fore- 
man who  gave  us  some  good  advice.  He  told  us  we 
would  soon  come  to  a  wash  on  the  north  side  of  the 
track  where  we  would  probably  find  easier  pulling 
than  on  the  track,  and  he  told  us  just  how  to  get  to 
it.  He  also  told  us  we  were  only  three  and  a  half 
miles  from  his  section  house  and  that  from  there  the 
going  was  better,  and  we  would  be  within  five  miles 
of  Kelso. 

Incidentally,  he  said  the  Superintendent  had 
dropped  him  a  note  telling  him  to  get  our  names  and 
to  order  us  off  the  track.  He  said  he  would  do 
neither.  He  was  glad  to  see  we  had  come  that  far 
alive  and  hoped  we  would  get  through  O.  K.  He 
said  the  first  chance  he  had  to  get  out  himself  he 
would  go  too,  and  if  any  one  had  been  kind  enough 
[58] 


The    Real    Thing    in    Deserts 

to  tell  him  about  the  country  first,  he  never  would 
have  come. 

Thanking  him  for  his  advice  we  drove  along  until 
we  came  to  the  jumping-off -place  he  had  indicated, 
and  after  a  hard  pull  found  ourselves  in  the  wash 
where  it  was  possible  for  the  horses  to  make  fairly 
good  headway,  and  soon  reached  Flynn,  the  section 
house.  Here,  after  eating  lunch  and  while  the 
horses  rested.  Doc  and  I  did  some  prospecting  to 
find  the  best  way  into  Kelso. 

To  follow  the  railroad  was  impossible  on  account 
of  the  sand,  and  we  could  not  drive  on  the  track  on 
account  of  trestle  work,  so  we  went  north  to  a  mesa 
and  discovered  a  trail  coming  down  from  above,  the 
first  trail  we  had  seen  in  about  sixty  miles. 
Climbing  up  we  found  it  well-defined,  leading  off 
down  grade  to  Kelso,  with  the  town  itself  in  sight. 
A  hard  trail,  and  Kelso,  for  a  minute,  was  enough  to 
make  us  forget  our  troubles,  but  I  knew  how  tired 
the  horses  were  and  I  said,  "  Doc,  we  can  never  pull 
that  wagon  over  here  and  up  this  hill."  Doc  did  n't 
agree  with  me.  He  thought  we  could  do  it.  We  did 
by  slow  stages  reach  the  foot  of  the  hill  and,  with 
Doc  and  Bob  pushing,  got  up  and  on  to  the  trail. 
[59] 


The   Cruise   of   a   Schooner 

Here  we  took  Dixie  out  of  harness,  as  all  Kate  and 
Bess  would  have  to  do  was  to  walk  leisurely  into 
town  (about  five  miles),  mostly  down  grade. 

"  Well,  Doc,"  I  said,  "  you  won ;  we  got  up." 

"  Yes,"  said  Doc,  still  a  little  out  of  breath,  "  but 
I  am  not  making  any  more  bets  on  this  mare  "  — 
holding  Kate  by  the  head  —  "  she  is  bleeding  at  the 
nose  and  I  believe  she  is  going  blind.  What  are  we 
going  to  do?  " 

"Any  danger  of  her  bleeding  to  death?"  I  in- 
quired. 

Now  Doc  is  not  especially  strong  on  horse  diseases 
but  he  knows  symptoms,  and  when  he  looked  up  and 
said,  "  No,  she  is  just  naturally  done,"  I  felt  re- 
lieved. 

"  What  are  we  going  to  do,"  I  repeated,  "  going 
to  Kelso,  Doc?  Better  climb  up  and  ride  for  a 
change." 


[60] 


Chapter    IV 
Kelso,     California 

THE  drive  into  Kelso  the  afternoon  of  May  twen- 
ty-fifth was  especially  fascinating.  We  were  on 
a  good  hard  trail  and  had  only  a  few  miles  to  go, 
and  cares  seemed  to  have  rolled  away.  We  could 
look  at  the  scenery  and  talk  intelligently  about  it; 
we  became  wildly  enthusiastic  over  the  Granite 
Mountains  to  the  south  of  us,  and  the  big  sand 
hills  to  the  southwest, —  called  "  The  Devil's  Play- 
ground," —  under  which  we  had  camped  a  few  nights 
before,  and  where  we  had  seen  the  total  eclipse  of 
the  moon.  Just  beyond  the  Granite  Peak  was  Old 
Dad  Mountain.  Our  trail  lay  down  the  middle  of 
this  wide  valley,  flanked  by  the  Providence  Moun- 
tains on  the  south,  and  desert  hills  on  the  north. 
The  colors  were  changing  all  the  time  and  the  air 
was  so  clear  that  we  could  see  as  far  as  —  well,  you 
could  see  as  far  as  you  could  see.  That  is  a  safe 
statement  and  saves  mileage,  which  every  travelling 
[61] 


Tlie    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

man  will  appreciate.  We  had  seen  some  wonderful 
views  during  the  past  few  days,  but  perspiration  and 
scenery  did  not  create  enthusiasm;  besides,  we  were 
worried  then.  But  I  think  as  we  rode  quietly  down 
upon  this  little  desert  town,  the  spirit  of  the  desert 
must  have  taken  possession  of  us,  and  things  looked 
different  to  us  from  that  time  on. 

I  think  we  were  all  somewhat  surprised  not  to  see 
a  delegation  coming  out  to  meet  us,  but,  after  we 
got  acquainted  with  the  town,  we  found  the  reason 
easy  enough  to  explain.  The  little  town  had  grown 
smaller  from  the  time  we  saw  it,  five  miles  away,  until 
we  got  into  it.  If  it  had  been  any  farther  away 
when  we  first  saw  it,  I  doubt  if  we  could  have  dis- 
covered it  when  we  got  there.  This  phenomenon 
may  be  of  some  use  in  determining  the  causes  of 
mirages. 

There  were  apparently  only  two  men  in  town ;  the 
hotel  keeper  and  saloon  man,  who  greeted  us  from 
the  shady  end  of  the  porch,  advised  us  that  the 
storekeeper,  who  had  a  bale  of  alfalfa  hay  in  the 
freight  house  of  the  railroad,  might  be  persuaded  to 
let  us  have  it  if  properly  interviewed.  We  inter- 
viewed him  properly  and  procured  it.  He  was  the 
[62  1 


Kelso,    California 

second  man.  He  was  also  the  postmaster  and  sheriff 
and  game  warden.  He  had  married  a  Los 
Angeles  girl  and  they  had  a  bungalow  next  to  the 
store,  some  flowers  and  some  fruit  trees,  and  a  shed 
and  a  corral  behind,  making  four  buildings  on  the 
north  side  of  the  railroad  track.  This  was  the  town 
proper.  The  balance  of  the  town  on  the  other  side 
of  the  railroad  track  did  not  count  for  much  in  a 
desert  scene.  There  was,  in  addition  to  the  railroad 
station,  an  eating  house,  a  repair  shop,  water  tank, 
and  a  few  raih'oad  houses  for  the  employees  to  live 
in. 

This  was  Kelso  as  we  saw  it,  a  desert  water  sta- 
tion at  the  foot  of  the  grade  on  the  Salt  Lake  Rail- 
road. There  were  eighty  miles  of  sand  and  desert 
west  of  it  that  we  knew,  and  we  concluded  there 
could  be  nothing  worse  east  of  it,  so  we  were  pre- 
pared to  take  things  easy  for  a  day  or  two  and 
rest  up  our  horses  before  going  on. 

We  patronized  the  railroad  lunch  counter  and 
visited  with  Fred  Rickett,  the  postmaster,  who  gave 
us  a  great  deal  of  interesting  information  about  the 
country.  He  told  us  about  a  spring  of  water  he 
had  about  six  miles  from  town,  up  in  the  mountains, 
[63] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

and  how  the  mountain  sheep  came  there  to  drink,  as 
it  was  the  only  water  for  miles.  He  expects  some 
time  to  pipe  it  down  to  town  and  irrigate  a  tract  of 
land.  At  present  he  raises  his  vegetables  up  there. 
He  took  quite  a  fancy  to  Tuck,  who  never  left  the 
wagon  all  the  time  we  were  in  town.  I  find  the  fol- 
lowing memo  in  my  diary  for  the  day  spent  in 
Kelso,  which  shows  how  exciting  the  day  really  was : 
"  Thursday,  the  twenty-sixth.  Put  in  day  here  in 
Kelso  talking  to  Rickett,  making  a  few  repairs  to 
wagon,  tightening  screws,  etc.  Have  no  grain,  but 
put  all  alfalfa  we  could  inside  the  horses.  Doctored 
Kate's  shoulder,  neck,  and  foot.  Wrote  a  few  let- 
ters and  postals.  Rickett,  who  has  prospected  all 
over  this  part  of  the  country,  says  the  best  way  to 
get  here  from  Daggett  is  via  the  Santa  Fe  Railroad 
to  Amboy  and  then  up  over  the  mountains  between 
Granite  and  Old  Dad,  on  horseback.  A  light  wagon 
could  make  it.  It  is  not  so  very  much  better  than 
the  way  we  came.  A  prospector  came  in  with  two 
burros  from  twelve  miles  up  in  the  mountains  for 
mail  and  supplies.  Rickett  says  he  has  the  only 
store  for  eighty  miles  west,  forty  miles  south,  thir- 
ty miles  north,  and  twenty  miles  east. 
[64] 


THE    BUSINESS    SECTION    OF 
KELSO,   CALIFORNIA 


Kelso,    California 

"  He  told  us  he  had  two  brothers  in  the  war  and 
how  one  of  them  came  very  near  shooting  the  other; 
one  was  on  the  North  and  the  other  on  the  South. 
The  one  under  Lee  was  a  sharpshooter  and  one  night 
killed  four  sentries  at  a  single  post,  but  got  so 
hungry  he  could  not  wait  for  the  fifth  to  show  him- 
self so  called  out  to  him  for  something  to  eat.  The 
reply  came  back:  *  Can  of  lard  and  some  corn 
meal,'  in  a  voice  he  recognized  as  his  brother's.  So 
he  went  back  and  got  Lee  to  transfer  him.  (You 
may  have  heard  this  story  before,  but  you  appreciate 
the  significance  of  it  more  when  you  hear  it  told  by 
one  of  the  brothers.) 

"  Got  all  of  our  meals  at  the  restaurant  here  at 
thirtj'-five  cents  per.  Turned  in  early,  all  ready 
for  an  early  start.  So  far,  since  leaving  San  Ber- 
nardino, we  have  met  no  one  on  the  road.  One  auto 
passed  us  going  into  Hesperia  and  we  met  one  auto 
going  out  of  Victorville.  Not  a  snake  sighted,  a 
very  few  small  jacks,  and  a  few  very  large  land 
tortoises.  During  the  early  spring  or  winter  one 
can  get  through  here  better,  although,  of  course,  the 
weather  is  not  so  good.  Rickett  said  last  winter  a 
young  lad  came  through  driving  a  buggy  and  a  two- 
[65  1 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

year-old  colt,  with  only  a  dog  for  company.  He 
assumed  he  got  through,  but  he  never  had  heard." 

This  extract  from  my  diary  would  seem  to  show 
that  the  only  item  of  news  which  a  newspaper  cor- 
respondent could  have  wired  his  home  paper  as  hap- 
pening that  day  (supposing  there  had  been  any 
newspaper  correspondent),  would  have  been  about 
as  follows : 

"  Kelso,  May  26.  We  were  interrupted  to-day 
by  Bill  Baxter  who  came  down  from  his  mine  over 
in  the  Providence  Mountains  for  mail  and  supplies. 
Bill  says  it  is  mighty  dry  this  year  in  the  moun- 
tains. Providence,  Bill  said,  did  n't  do  as  much 
this  year  as  usual.  '  Come  again.  Bill,  we  don't 
mind  being  interrupted.'  " 


[66] 


Chapter     V 

Off     Again 

WE  leave  town  early  with  a  new  arrangement 
of  horses  —  Dixie  beside  Bess,  and  Kate 
walking  behind.  Doctor  questions  how  long  Dixie, 
who  is  so  much  smaller  than  Bess  and  not  of  the 
work-horse  type,  will  be  able  to  pull  her  end,  but 
we  leave  that  question ;  in  fact,  we  have  n't  decided 
it  yet.  We  are  off  for  Las  Vegas,  Nevada.  We 
have  a  road  to  follow  among  desert  hills  and  val- 
leys, up  and  down  hill,  but  find  no  water  except  at 
a  railroad  water  car  or  cisteni.  The  first  day  we 
pass  Cima,  where  we  got  a  bale  of  wheat  hay  and 
water.  We  make  about  twenty-two  miles,  which 
seems  more  like  progress,  especially  after  using  up 
six  days  to  come  eighty  miles.  Here  there  are  more 
rocks  in  the  hills  and  more  vegetation.  Forests  of 
Joshua  Palms  (giant  cacti)  grow  on  the  higher 
slopes  on  the  north  side.  We  never  saw  them  grow- 
ing on  land  sloping  to  the  south  or  at  low  altitude. 
[67] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

Our  first  camp  was  among  the  giant  cacti,  which 
we  used  as  hitching  posts  for  the  horses  while  feed- 
ing. That  niglit  we  heard  a  mountain  Hon  squall, 
but  Tuck  evidently  did  not  think  he  was  near  enough 
to  worry  about.  Tuck  is  getting  to  be  an  ideal  camp 
dog.  He  can  be  trusted  to  stay  around  camp  and 
will  not  leave  the  wagon  on  any  excuse  if  we 
are  not  about,  so  we  feel  perfectly  safe,  no  matter 
where  we  are,  in  the  belief  that  our  tools,  harness, 
and  odds  and  ends  (so  essential  to  us  on  this  sort  of 
a  trip)  will  not  be  mislaid  by  visitors  or  stolen. 

The  next  morning  we  were  at  Leastalk,  thirteen 
miles,  by  9  a.  m.,  and  Kate  was  feeling  so  good  we 
let  her  pack  the  saddle  and  Bob  rode  her.  Here  at 
Leastalk  we  got  half  a  sack  of  grain  (all  they  had) 
and  started  up  the  Tvanpah  Valley  to  Ivanpah, 
seven  miles.  We  reached  there  at  noon.  How  any 
one  can  reach  a  place  that  is  n't,  I  can't  say,  but  as 
I  said  before,  we  got  to  the  place  which,  on  the  map, 
said  "  Ivanpah,"  but  which  there,  said  nothing. 

On   looking   at  the   map   I   saw   that   a'  railroad 

track  ran  from  here  by  various  crooks  and  turns  to 

Bengal    on    the    Atchison,    Topeka    and    Santa    Fe 

Railroad.     We  finally  discovered  the  track,  and  also 

[68] 


JOSHUA     PALM    OR    GIANT    CACTUS 


Off    Again 

a  few  work  cars,  and  met  the  foreman  and  his  crew 
of  Mexicans  working  on  the  right-of-way. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do?  "  said  I  to  the  fore- 
man, thinking  he  might  be  the  forerunner  of  a  build- 
ing gang  who  were  to  build  a  town  here  or  extend 
the  railroad. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said. 

"Don't  know?  Have  n't  you  any  orders?"  I 
asked,  surprised. 

"  Won't  get  any  until  they  pull  me  back  to- 
morrow. This  is  the  end  of  the  road,  is  n't  it?  " 
he  asked. 

I  was  about  to  remark,  "  It  certainly  is,"  when  it 
occurred  to  me  that  I  was  n't  supposed  to  know  as 
much  about  a  railroad  as  a  real  railroad  man  like 
the  foreman  of  a  gang  of  Mexicans,  so  I  replied 
cautiously,  "  Well,  I  don't  know.  I  thought  this 
might  be  the  beginning  of  a  railroad;  if  this  is  the 
end  of  one,  what  was  the  use  of  building  it?  " 

He  looked  at  me  curiously  for  a  minute.  It  cer- 
tainly was  hot  there  in  the  sun  and  he  had  no  way 
of  knowing  we  had  just  been  to  water,  so  he  said, 
"  You  had  better  take  a  drink.  You  can  have 
what  you  want  from  my  tank  car ;  and  you  had  bet- 
[69] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

ter  fill  your  barrels  too;  no  knowing  when  you  will 
get  any  more." 

After  filling  our  barrels  we  ate  lunch  and  tried 
to  get  a  shot  at  a  coyote  that  had  crossed  the  trail 
just  below  us,  but  we  would  have  been  cooler  if  we 
had  let  him  go  without  trying.  From  about  noon 
to  four  o'clock  it  is  pretty  hot  in  the  sun,  but  we 
were  now  where  we  could  ride, —  Doc  and  I  and  Tuck 
in  the  wagon  under  the  canvas  top,  and  Bob  on  Kate. 
Sometimes  during  the  middle  of  the  day  we  would 
all  ride  in  the  wagon,  and  at  other  times  would  take 
turns  riding  the  saddle,  so  as  to  make  it  easier  on  the 
team  horses. 

We  had  come  twenty  miles  before  lunch  so  did  not 
start  very  early.  When  we  did,  however,  we  headed 
right  northeast  for  Dry  Lake  and  got  nearly  across 
before  we  decided  to  camp,  Kate  having  lost  a  shoe. 
We  saw  another  coyote  just  before  reaching  the 
lake,  but  as  usual  our  30-30  was  n't  handy  to  the 
fellow  who  saw  him  first,  and  that  is  sufficient  expla- 
nation in  that  country  where  everything  is  the  same 
color  as  the  coyote  and  little  draws  and  gulches 
are  handy 

This  Dry  Lake  was  just  that  and  nothing  more. 
f70l 


Off   Again 

At  times  during  the  year,  or  some  years,  there  must 
be  water  here,  but  I  guess  it  is  not  often.  It  was 
really  a  wonderful  place  to  look  at,  flat  as  a  floor, 
almost  as  smooth  as  a  tennis  court,  hard  as  a  board, 
creamy  white  in  color,  and  I  should  say  seven  miles 
long  and  about  two  and  a  half  miles  across  at  the 
widest  part,  surrounded  by  sage  brush  and  grease- 
wood.  I  should  hate  to  cross  it  in  the  middle  of  the 
day  —  it  must  be  awfully  hot ;  but  at  night  it  would 
make  a  racecourse  for  horses  or  automobiles,  if  one 
could  only  scrape  up  an  audience. 

We  camped  at  6:30  p.  m.  that  evening  on  the 
lake  bed,  where  it  was  smooth  and  cool.  Our  coal 
oil  stove  was  proving  a  great  success  in  a  land  with- 
out wood,  and  even  where  there  was  any,  it  saved 
time,  as  did  our  water  barrels,  and  our  fireless  cook- 
er saved  coal  oil,  and  gave  us  better  oatmeal,  prunes, 
and  rice  than  we  could  have  had  at  home. 

The  next  morning  before  starting  we  put  a  new 
shoe  on  Kate;  that  is.  Doc  blacksmithed  an  old  one 
we  had  on  hand  and  I  nailed  it  on,  and  the  surpris- 
ing thing  about  it  was  that  it  stayed  on. 

We  got  off  the  lake  bottom  and  on  towards  Jean, 
Sunday  morning.  May  twenty-ninth.  We  had  made 
[71] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

thirty  miles  Saturday,  but  that  was  an  easy  day, 
which,  with  the  level  lake  bed  to  walk  over  in  the 
evening,  was  like  driving  on  Michigan  Avenue.  No 
such  good  fortune  awaited  us  from  now  on.  It  was 
up  grade  and  hard  pulling  all  the  way  to  Jean,  but 
here  we  got  grain  and  wheat  hay,  so,  pulling  out 
from  the  store  about  a  mile,  we  fed  grain  and  hay, 
and  then  turned  the  horses  loose  to  graze  until 
they  were  completely  filled  up  before  we  started  on. 

Kate's  shoulder  is  better  and  her  cracked  heel  is 
about  well.  The  film  is  going  off  her  eye  and  I 
think  very  soon  she  will  be  able  to  take  her  place  with 
Bess  again  and  let  Dixie  pack  the  saddle.  Dixie 
has  pulled  her  end  so  far  very  well,  although  not 
being  used  to  a  collar  her  neck  is  getting  sore,  and 
I  can  see  Kate  will  not  be  well  enough  to  wear  a  col- 
lar any  too  soon. 

At  night  we  conclude  we  have  made  about  twen- 
ty-two miles  up  grade,  and  at  a  guess  figure  we  are 
twenty-three  miles  from  Las  Vegas,  mostly  a  down- 
hill pull,  so  we  think  it  will  be  an  easy  trip  for  the 
morrow. 

It  had  not  been  unbearably  hot  up  to  this  time 
and  the  nights  were  simply  glorious  —  clear  and 
[72] 


Off    Again 

cool  —  and  we  were  congratulating  ourselves  on 
having  such  fine  travelling  weather.  My  memoran- 
dum book  notes  a  change  in  the  weather  the  next 
day,  May  30,  Decoration  Day,  and  I  give  my 
memorandum  here  verbatim: 

"  Started  from  camp  at  5 :45  a.  m.  for  Las  Vegas, 
the  last  lap  of  our  first  real  desert  experience.  We 
have  been  ten  days  in  crossing  from  Daggett,  Cal- 
ifornia, to  Las  Vegas,  Nevada,  probably  one  hundred 
and  fifty  miles,  so  we  have  averaged  fifteen  miles, 
including  stop  of  a  day  at  Kelso  and  going  up  to 
Lake  Crucero  by  mistake,  which  put  us  back  two 
days,  so  we  could  have  made  it  in  seven  days  if  we 
had  not  got  lost  and  pulled  down  the  team  in  getting 
out.  We  drive  up  dry  rivers  and  down  dry  rivers, 
over  sand  and  rocks,  mostly  up  hill,  because  the 
sand  is  usually  so  deep  the  wagon  pulls  on  the  team 
going  down  grade.  We  have  found  no  cows  and 
believe,  with  the  old  pioneer,  that  this  country  con- 
tains more  rivers  and  less  water,  and  you  can  see 
farther  and  see  less,  than  any  other  part  of  the 
United  States. 

"  Coming  into  Las  Vegas  this  morning  we  saw  our 
first  artesian  well,  forty  inches,  and  learned  they 
[73] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

were  now  going  to  have  one  on  each  section  of  this 
desert  slope.  Some  time  we  are  going  back  to  see 
if  they  do  and  how  much  good  it  does  them.  The 
soil  looked  too  full  of  alkali  to  suit  me.  However, 
while  this  well  made  quite  a  stream,  it  mostly  evap- 
orated or  sunk  into  the  ground,  as  it  seemed  to  do 
very  little  good. 

"  We  reached  the  end  of  the  down  grade  part  of 
the  trip  at  11  a.  m.,  stayed  near  this  well  for  lunch, 
and  then  at  1 :30  made  a  start  on  the  eight-mile  pull 
up  through  the  sand,  arriving  at  Las  Vegas  at  4 :45 
p.  M.,  after  the  hardest  eight  miles  we  ever  made, 
on  account  of  heat.  The  wind  was  in  our  faces,  but 
how  hot  it  was  we  did  not  know.  It  most  blistered 
us  —  probably  about  115  to  120  degrees,  as  we 
found  it  107  in  the  hotel  after  we  arrived. 

"  It  certainly  was  hot.  We  took  a  drink  every 
fifteen  minutes  and  watered  the  horses  every  hour, 
besides  putting  water  on  Tuck's  head  and  back  to 
keep  him  from  being  overcome.  We  put  team  in 
shed  of  livery,  the  only  one  in  town,  and  went  to  a 
hotel. 

"  No  mail,  as  Decoration  Day  was  a  holiday  and 
postoffice  closed." 

[74] 


Off   Again 

The  above  memorandum  says  nothing  about  scen- 
ery, nothing  about  Las  Vegas  itself,  and  nothing  even 
about  the  road,  so  I  guess  we  were  not  long  on 
enthusiasm  about  that  time.  We  slept  in  beds 
that  night,  but  hot  ones,  and  we  laid  the  heat  to  the 
town  and  the  hotel.  The  next  day  we  got  our  mail, 
wrote  home,  and  after  getting  off  all  the  letters  we 
went  over  and,  as  Doc  said,  "  patched  up  the 
horses."  We  got  a  hose  and  soaked  their  feet,  and 
after  a  general  clean-up  I  think  they  felt  better. 
It  was  no  cooler,  however. 

In  the  afternoon  I  took  all  the  horses  around  to 
be  shod.  The  blacksmith  said  if  I  would  help  him, 
he  would  shoe  them,  but  not  otherwise,  as  it  was 
too  hot.  I  told  him  it  was  not  very  hot,  but  I 
would  help  him  just  the  same,  so  we  went  at  It. 
Before  long  the  canteen  ran  dry,  so  I  went  and  filled 
it  and  hung  it  in  the  shade  in  a  handy  place.  The 
blacksmith  kept  complaining  about  the  heat.  He 
said  it  was  just  as  hot  every  year  there,  but  hotter 
when  you  had  to  work.  He  wanted  me  to  go  into 
the  next  building  and  look  at  a  spirit  thermometer 
and  let  him  know  how  hot  it  really  was.  I  did  go, 
and  looked  at  the  thermometer,  but  when  I  found 
[75] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

it  registered  126°  over  there  in  the  shade  I  con- 
cluded I  best  keep  it  to  myself  or  the  blacksmith 
would  quit  work,  so  when  I  got  back  I  said,  "  Well,  it 
is  pretty  hot;  it  is  120." 

He  did  n't  say  anything  for  a  few  minutes,  but 
finally  as  he  held  a  shoe  in  a  tub  of  water  to  cool 
he  looked  over  at  me  and  said,  "  Guess  this  country 
is  getting  me  down.  I  did  n't  use  to  mind  120 
before.  When  it  gets  up  to  130  and  135  I  just  lay 
off.  About  120, — well,  I  guess  I  will  take  a  drink 
and  go  look  at  that  thermometer." 

I  could  see  myself  finishing  that  job  alone  and 
watched  him  narrowly  as  he  went  over  to  take  a  look 
at  the  thermometer.  On  his  way  back  I  could  see 
he  was  not  feeling  as  bad  as  I  had  expected  he  would, 
and  was  surprised  to  hear  him  say,  in  a  more  cheer- 
ful tone  than  I  had  been  able  to  get  out  of  him 
before,  "  Well,  I  thought  it  must  be  over  120 ;  why, 
it  is  126  —  no  wonder  I  was  hot.  Guess  you  can't 
fool  me  on  weather  in  this  country.  Now  let 's  fin- 
ish this  job  before  it  gets  any  hotter.  I  bet  I  don't 
work  to-morrow."  And  we  kept  at  it  until  all  the 
horses  were  shod. 

Doc  came  over  for  a  few  minutes  to  see  how  we 

r  76 1 


Off   Again 

were  getting  on.  He  picked  up  a  horseshoe  from 
the  floor  with  his  bare  hand,  and  dropped  it  as  if  it 
were  red  hot.  He  seemed  to  think  we  were  putting 
up  a  job  on  him,  and  when  I  said  it  was  a  cold  one 
he  said  I  was  joking,  but  after  testing  a  few  more 
he  said  that  a  blacksmith  shop  was  no  place  to  loaf 
in,  and  started  back  to  the  hotel.  We  finished  the 
shoeing  and  returning  to  the  hotel  talked  over  things, 
especially  the  heat,  and  decided  we  had  rather  be  out 
on  the  desert  than  in  town.  We  concluded  it  must 
be  cooler  at  night  out  there  and  not  so  dusty  during 
the  day. 

Las  Vegas  ordinarily  would  have  about  fifteen 
hundred  people  when  the  railroad  is  running,  but 
now,  I  should  say,  had  only  about  eight  hundred. 
They  have  a  nice  railroad  station,  but  that  is  about 
all.  The  stores  are  not  especially  interesting  and 
the  whole  town  is  on  the  main  street,  facing  the  rail- 
road station,  and  one  other  street  running  at  right 
angles  to  it. 

Through  the  ownership  of  the  old  Stewart  Ranch 

the   railroad   company   own   the  water  and   all  the 

irrigatable  land  about  Las  Vegas,  except  what  may 

be  developed  from  a  recent  discovery  of  water,  eight 

[77] 


The    Cruise   of   a    Schooner 

miles  below  town,  by  sinking  of  wells.  This,  how- 
ever, I  don't  have  much  faith  in  as  being  of  suffi- 
cient flow  to  any  more  than  raise  garden  truck,  but 
why  anybody  should  want  to  live  in  a  place  that  on 
provocation  can  get  as  hot  as  135  degrees  in  the 
shade  (and  no  shade),  simply  because  they  could 
possibly  raise  garden  truck,  I  am  unable  to  see. 

We  have  decided  to  start  out  again.  We  have  our 
grub  box  filled,  and  our  oil  can;  also  grain  for  the 
horses  and  some  alfalfa  hay.  It  did  not  cool  off 
much  last  night  and  is  still  hot  to-day,  a  good  stiff 
breeze  blowing,  but  in  spite  of  the  breeze,  it  is  105 
in  the  shade  and,  if  you  open  your  mouth,  it  dries 
out  before  you  get  a  chance  to  close  it.  We  have 
faith  that  the  desert  is  better  than  the  town,  and  not 
knowing  the  character  of  the  country  ahead  (no 
one  being  able  to  enlighten  us},  we  take  a  chance  and 
start,  leaving  town  at  3  P.  m.,  June  1,  having  spent 
practically  two  days  here.  We  are  bound  for 
Bunkerville  by  way  of  Moapa. 


78  1 


■M- 


WE     STOP     FOR     WATER 


Chapter   VI 
The    Dixie    Country      of    Utah 

LEAVING  Las  Vegas  at  3  p.  m.,  with  a  hot  wind 
at  our  back,  we  drove  through  the  Stewart 
Ranch,  which,  with  its  cottonwood  trees,  patches  of 
alfalfa,  and  running  water,  looked  awfully  good  to 
us.  Leaving  the  ranch  we  nearly  drove  over  a  bob- 
cat, but  we  were  too  hot  to  take  much  interest  in 
any  game  at  that  time.  Immediately  after  we  had 
reached  the  long  valley  running  north  from  Las 
Vegas,  it  began  to  get  cooler,  and  that  night  we  slept 
under  blankets  again. 

We  got  an  early  start  the  next  morning  and  by 
8 :30  A.  M.  had  driven  the  twelve  miles  to  the  top  of 
the  divide,  and  by  noon  reached  a  railroad  water 
well  at  Dry  Lake.  The  accompanying  picture 
shows  the  spot.  There  is  nothing  here;  in  fact,  if 
we  had  not  had  explicit  directions  from  a  railroad 
man  we  would  n't  have  found  the  well.  We  lunched, 
[79] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

and  then  at  4  p.  m.,  having  found  some  bunch  grass, 
we  camped  and  turned  the  horses  loose. 

We  are  glad  we  did  not  stay  at  Las  Vegas  any 
longer.  It  may  be  cooler  there  now,  but  we  know 
it  is  here,  and  we  are  happy.  Dixie  still  holds  out, 
so  have  not  tried  Kate  in  harness  yet.  We  are  in 
a  bare  mountainous  country  of  the  same  desert 
variety  which  we  have  been  travelling  through  for 
so  long,  but  in  spots  the  trail  is  good  and  in  others 
it  is  bad.  It  seems  strange  not  to  meet  a  soul  driv- 
ing through  the  country.  Still,  as  there  does  not 
seem  to  be  any  people  in  the  country,  I  assume  there 
is  no  one  to  travel. 

We  were  computing  to-day  how  nuich  weight  we 
have  in  our  wagon,  including  water  barrels,  half 
full,  hay  and  grain  and  two  people,  and  set  it  down 
as  fifteen  hundred  pounds,  which,  with  the  wagon, 
springs  and  cover  added,  makes  a  good  load  for 
two  ordinary  horses,  but  we  are  beginning  to  think 
that  our  horses  are  more  than  that. 

The  next  morning  we  were  off  for  Moapa.     We 

had    another    divide   to    cross    and   then    down   into 

California  Wash  for  eight  miles  to  the  Big  Muddy. 

This  California  Wash  was  a  terror.     I  can't  forget 

[80] 


OUR     FIRST    CAMP    EAST    OF 
LAS     VEGAS 


The    Dixie    C  o  ii  m  t  r  y    o  f  U  t  a  h 

its  heat  and  its  sand  and  rocks,  and  while  we  started 
in  cheerfully  enough,  before  we  got  out  the  boys 
were  both  walking  and  I  was  driving  the  team  fifty 
yards  only  to  a  stop.  We  came  out  suddenly  on  to 
the  banks  of  a  clear  little  stream  running  out  of 
Meadow  Valley,  and  forgot  about  our  troubles,  or 
those  other  people  had  had  at  the  time  of  the  Mea- 
dow Valley  massacre,  and  turned  everything  loose. 

We  had  a  fine  camp  here,  the  first  stream  of 
water  since  leaving  Daggett  on  the  Mojave  three 
weeks  ago.  We  boys  washed  up,  including  our 
clothes,  and  shortly  after  lunch,  while  the  wash  was 
on  the  line,  I  rode  Kate  up  to  Moapa,  two  miles,  and 
got  a  sack  of  feed,  as  we  found  we  could  save  four 
miles  by  not  going  into  Moapa. 

We  hit  the  stage  road  near  our  camp  that  evening 
and  started  east  for  Bunkerville.  Tuck  never  had 
so  much  fun  as  he  seemed  to  have  in  that  little 
stream,  and  on  his  account,  as  well  as  our  own,  we 
hated  to  leave,  but  at  5  P.  m.  we  moved  on  to  a  ranch 
house  at  the  foot  of  a  range  of  mountains  we  had 
to  go  over,  and  camped  there  for  the  night,  so  as  to 
be  ready  to  make  the  climb  in  the  morning  before 
it  should  get  too  hot.  These  mountains,  I  think, 
[81] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

were  the  south  end  of  a  small  range  called  the  Mor- 
mon Mountains,  although  everything  in  this  country 
seems  to  be  either  hills  or  mountains,  but  they 
have  n't  been  discovered  yet  or  else  the  folks  who 
made  up  the  maps  were  out  of  names.  They  seem 
to  be  long  on  country  and  short  on  names. 

At  this  ranch  house,  which  was  occupied  by  a  new 
man,  or  tenderfoot,  we  found  an  old  man  lying  on 
a  bed  by  the  window  and  a  young  man  fanning  him 
to  keep  away  the  flies.  On  inquiring  as  to  whether 
he  was  sick,  we  were  informed  he  had  been  hurt  in  a 
runaway  the  night  before,  so  while  Bob  and  I  were 
unpacking,  Doc  took  his  bag  and  went  up  to  see 
what  he  could  do  for  him,  and  we  were  left  to  spec- 
ulate on  the  case  and  get  supper  while  he  was  gone. 
Doc  has  a  way  of  making  friends  whether  they  are 
sick  or  well,  and  we  usually  send  him  out  for  a  parley 
in  any  emergency.  This,  however,  was  his  first  case 
of  personal  injury  on  the  trip,  so  I  knew  he  would 
not  be  back  very  soon. 

It  was  late,  as  I  expected,  when  he  returned  and 

we  got  the  whole   story   while   eating  supper.     It 

seems  the  old  fellow  lived  about  eight  miles  down 

the  Muddy  River,  had  been  to  Moapa  with  a  load  of 

[82] 


The    Dixie    Country    of  Utah 

stuff  and  had  stayed  too  long,  so  that  he  was  a  little 
the  worse  for  whiskey.  It  was  dark  when  he  started 
for  home  and  he  had  a  mean  team,  which,  when  his 
brake  guard  came  off  and  he  fell  on  them,  promptly 
Kicked  him  into  insensibility  and  ran  off,  leaving  him 
to  come  to  during  the  night,  unable  to  see  or  tell 
where  he  was.  He  had  wandered  about  until  he 
came  to  the  ranch  fence  and  was  found  about  day- 
light by  one  of  the  boys  of  this  ranch,  who  took  him 
in,  and  when  they  found  out  who  he  was  they  sent 
for  his  son-in-law,  the  man  we  saw  fanning  him,  and 
the  doctor  who  lived  at  Logan.  They  had  come  up 
and  taken  him  in  charge,  but  the  doctor  evidently 
had  come  unprepared  or  else,  as  Doc  said,  never 
was  prepared,  and  he  had  done  poorly  by  him  and 
left,  promising  to  be  back  as  soon  as  he  could  get 
some  necessary  medicine  and  bandages.  Doc  said 
if  we  hadn't  just  happened  along  the  man  would 
have  died  of  blood  poisoning,  sure.  Doc  had  cleaned 
him  up,  dressed  his  wounds,  and  left  him  asleep. 

We   filled   our   water  barrels   just  half   full  that 
night  and  the  next  morning  were  off  up  the  moun- 
tain, driving  spike  team  for  Bunkerville,  thirty  miles 
away,  and  twenty-seven  miles  to  water.     Before  leav- 
[83] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

ing  Doc  made  a  call  on  his  patient;  refused  any 
compensation  for  his  services,  as  usual,  and  tried  to 
satisfy  the  son-in-law  by  telling  him  it  was  against 
the  rules  of  the  profession  for  a  doctor  to  collect 
from  another  doctor's  patient.  He  would  collect 
from  the  doctor  himself.  I  could  n't  hear  exactly 
what  the  man  said  in  reply  and  did  not  ask  Doc, 
but  thought  he  said  something  like  this :  "  Well, 
you  fellows  are  a  queer  bunch,  but  I  sure  am  thank- 
ful and  wish  you  luck." 

It  was  Saturday  morning,  June  fourth,  when  we 
left  the  ranch  camp  on  the  Muddy  River,  and  we 
had  a  three-mile  pull  nearly  straight  up  before 
reaching  the  mesa.  From  here  we  had  a  grand 
view,  which  reminded  me  somewhat  of  the  view  at 
the  Grand  Canyon  in  miniature.  The  valley  of  the 
Muddy  lay  beneath  us  and  had  widened  out  in  green 
spots  here  and  there,  where  the  ranchers  were  rais- 
ing alfalfa,  but  the  spots  were  so  far  below  they 
did  n't  look  bigger  than  flower  beds.  Behind  us 
stretched  the  dry,  hard  mesa,  over  which  our  road 
led  to  Bunkei*\'ille,  a  Mormon  settlement  on  the 
Virgin  River. 

There  was  nothing  of  interest  in  going  over  this 
[84] 


The    Dixie    Country    of  Utah 

stretch  of  about  twenty-five  miles  except  the  stage 
which  we  met,  carrying  the  mail  to  Moapa.  We 
could  see  the  dust  raised  by  the  horses  a  long  way  off 
and  finally  hailed  the  driver  as  he  passed.  Not  that 
we  had  anything  to  say  to  him,  but  as  the  Irishman 
would  say,  "  just  for  conversation."  He  drove  two 
horses  and  led  one ;  had  a  two-seated,  canopy-topped 
wagon,  no  merchandise  or  passengers,  just  a  mail 
bag  and  a  bundle  of  alfalfa  hay.  He  said  he  came 
over  one  day  and  went  back  the  next.  Told  us  to 
make  the  ford  before  dark  and  to  make  it  quick, 
and  then  he  drove  on.  This  was  quite  an  event  for 
us  as  it  was  the  first  vehicle  we  had  met  on  the 
desert  highway,  so  I  made  a  note  of  it. 

After  that  nothing  happened  until  we  came  to  the 
edge  of  the  mesa  and  started  down  again.  This  took 
some  careful  driving  to  get  down  safely  with  so 
heavy  a  wagon,  but  our  brake,  of  which  up  to  date 
we  had  had  little  use,  worked  admirably,  although  I 
concluded  I  could  adjust  it  a  little  better,  and  did 
so  later  on. 

We  had  sighted  Bunkerville  from  the  mesa,  and 
Virgin  Valley  lay  before  us,  but  it  was  green  only 
in  spots,  very  small  spots,  and  it  was  nearly  dark 
[85] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

when  we  reached  the  river.  Here  I  remembered  the 
stage  driver's  advice  to  get  across  quick,  so  we  put 
Dixie  on  ahead  and  started.  Much  to  my  surprise 
Dixie  seemed  to  get  frightened  and  refused  to  pull 
and  backed  into  the  team,  and  we  came  very  near 
getting  "  set  "  right  there ;  but  between  a  few  stones 
thrown  at  her  by  Doc  and  a  cussing  from  me  she 
started  up  quickly  enough  and  we  got  across.  This 
was  her  first  real  river-crossing  and  not  being  near 
where  I  could  reach  her  with  the  whip,  she  came  near 
making  a  mess  of  it,  but  after  that  first  time  she 
never  refused  to  take  a  ford  again.  We  did  not 
drive  any  farther  that  day,  but  camped  on  a  grassy 
spot  and  after  feeding  the  horses  grain  turned  them 
loose. 

The  next  morning  we  drove  through  Bunkerville, 
a  Mormon  town,  or  settlement,  they  would  call  it, 
of  sixty  families.  We  bought  feed  of  one  man  and 
groceries  at  the  store.  Miss  Bunker  waited  on  us, 
and  when  Doc  found  out  her  grandmother  was  sick 
he  went  right  over  and  paid  a  professional  call,  and 
cheered  the  old  lady  up. 

The  houses  are  built  mostly  of  adobe  or  clay 
bricks.  The  people  raise  alfalfa  and  vegetables, 
[86] 


The    Dixie    Country    of  Utah 

small  grains  by  irrigation,  and  some  stock.  The 
store  is  a  community  affair  and  the  houses  are 
built  fairly  close  together,  the  real  farming  being 
done  outside  in  small  tracts,  under  ditches  taken 
from  the  Virgin  River  higher  up.  We  stayed  about 
an  hour  and  a  half  in  this  place  and  then  moved  on, 
our  next  objective  point  being  St.  George,  Utah. 

We  are  still  in  Nevada.  To-night  we  will  be  in 
the  northwest  corner  of  Arizona  and  the  next  day 
in  Utah.     That  sounds  as  if  we  are  moving  fast. 

Driving  up  the  river  we  have  some  fine  views,  but 
very  hard  going,  up  steep  and  rocky  hills,  fording 
the  river  half  a  dozen  times,  through  quicksand  and 
long  stretches  of  sand.  We  are  appreciating  our 
horses  more  than  ever;  they  are  game  to  the  core 
and  never  refuse  to  pull.  Dixie  especially  is  a  tough 
little  beast,  Bess  a  steady  plodder,  and  Kate  a  good 
wheel  horse  and  saddler,  but  she  hates  to  leave  the 
other  horses. 

Shortly  after  leaving  Bunkerville  we  passed 
Mesquite,  a  small  town  on  the  north  side  of  the 
river,  where  the  cowboys  started  from  who  passed  us 
near  Moapa  on  their  way  to  Los  Angeles  with  the 
bunch  of  horses.  At  five-thirty  we  reached  the  top 
[87] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

of  a  mesa  overlooking  Littlefield,  a  quaint  Mormon 
settlement  of  five  houses. 

Here  we  drove  down  to  the  river  again,  through  the 
town  and  under  the  pomegranate  and  fig  trees,  and 
alongside  of  the  alfalfa  and  grain  fields.  We  took 
note  that  they  had  some  very  good  horses  here  and 
everybody  looked  happy  and  prosperous.  By  this 
I  mean  they  had  just  what  they  needed  and  no  more. 
This,  I  take  to  be  prosperity;  anything  more  would 
be  affluence,  which  makes  trouble. 

We  went  up  the  river  as  far  as  Beaver  Creek, 
where  we  turned  off  and  camped.  This  was  eighteen 
miles  from  our  morning  camp  and  it  had  been  a  very 
interesting  day  indeed  for  us,  although  hard  on  the 
horses.  The  Virgin  River  water  is  poor,  but  this 
Beaver  Creek  water  is  fine,  so  we  fill  our  barrels  to- 
night, as  we  are  told  by  the  rancher  here  that  it  is 
forty  miles  over  the  mountains  to  St.  George  and 
twenty-five  miles  to  water. 

As  each  man  drinks  a  gallon  and  a  half  of  water, 
and  each  horse  from  seven  to  eight  pails  a  day, 
and  besides  that  there  are  our  needs  for  cooking,  we 
get  to  thinking  nothing  else  but  water,  and  carry 
it    sometimes    unnecessarily ;    but    we   never    take    a 

[88] 


The    Dixie    Country    of  Utah 

chance  and  whenever  we  come  to  any  good  water  we 
fill  up. 

We  made  a  good  start  at  five-thirty  the  next 
morning  for  St.  George,  which  lay  over  on  the  other 
side  of  Beaver  Dam  Mountams,  down  on  Clara 
Creek.  We  had  a  stiff  pull  to  get  up  on  the  mesa 
and  then  a  continual  climb  up  over  the  rim.  It  grew 
cooler  as  we  climbed,  and  after  about  fourteen  miles 
we  stopped  for  noon.  From  here  we  had  a  splendid 
view  of  the  basin,  saw  where  the  Virgin  River  breaks 
through  the  mountains  and  where  the  Beaver  Dam 
and  Virgin  wash  come  together.  Then  we  drove  on 
up  and  at  3  p.  m.  topped  the  crest  and  started  down 
into  Clara  Creek  Valley.  Our  brake  worked  well 
and  the  horses  were  glad  of  a  chance  to  let  out  with- 
out pulling,  and  we  made  the  first  three  miles  in  fif- 
teen minutes,  probably.  Then  we  ran  into  a  wash 
and  slowed  up,  but  soon  got  a  good  road  again, 
although  it  was  red  clay. 

While  getting  some  beautiful  views  we  dropped 
so  fast  that  at  5 :30  p.  m.  we  reached  the  bottom, 
literally  covered  with  red  dust  and  filled  with  excite- 
ment. We  came  to  the  creek  at  Shem,  an  Indian 
settlement,  eight  miles  from  Clara  and  thirteen 
[89] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

miles  from  St.  George.  We  saw  quite  a  few  Tepee 
Indians ;  we  were  not  sure  what  tribe  they  belonged 
to,  but  concluded  they  must  be  Utes  as  this  is  Utah. 
Night  before  last  we  camped  on  the  Virgin  River, 
Nevada,  and  last  night  on  Beaver  Dam  Creek,  Ari- 
zona, and  to-night  on  Clara  Creek,  Utah.  "  I  guess 
that  is  going  some,"  as  the  little  boy  said. 

Coming  down  the  canyon  this  afternoon  we  saw 
painted  on  a  rock  "  Isaac  Sprague  1908."  We 
were  sorry  he  did  not  put  down  his  address  so  we 
could  have  looked  him  up,  but  assumed  he  was  a 
Mormon  and  not  a  Yankee. 

We  made  about  twenty-seven  miles  to-day,  eight- 
een up  and  nine  down  hill,  which  was  quite  a  day's 
work  for  the  horses,  as  it  was  pretty  much  up  all 
day,  and  the  down  was  pretty  much  down.  We  will 
hope  for  an  easier  trail  to-morrow. 

We  camped  here  on  Clara  Creek,  which  is  the 
beginning  of  what  is  called  the  "  Dixie  Country." 
Most  folks  go  "  'way  down  South  "  to  Dixie,  but  we 
have  come  up  from  the  bottom,  so  to  speak,  climbed 
over  the  lower  range  of  mountains,  and  are  coming 
up  north  into  Dixie.  Why  this  southern  Utah 
country  containing  a  few  Mormon  settlements  is 
[90] 


A     SAMPLE    OF     MORMON 
ARCHITECTURE 


The   Dixie    Country    of  Utah 

called  the  "  Dixie  Country,"  I  never  asked,  but  I 
simply  assumed  that  it  was  the  Mormon's  "  Vay 
down  South." 

The  next  morning,  being  in  Dixie  land,  we  get 
the  habit  immediately,  start  late  (eight-thirty), 
meet  some  prospectors  going  up  to  Bull  Creek,  and 
stop  to  interview  them.  They  tell  us  all  sorts  of 
stories  of  ore  and  want  us  to  help  them  to  get  some 
of  it  out,  but  we  decline  to  work  and  have  no  money 
to  invest,  so  move  leisurely  on.  We  cross  the  creek 
a  dozen  times.  Tuck  and  the  horses  enjoy  this  and 
the  scenery  is  worth  while  stopping  to  admire. 

Reaching  Clara  we  take  a  few  pictures  of  Mor- 
mon houses.  It  reminded  me  of  Switzerland,  the 
way  these  people  get  little  patches  of  green  out  of 
the  desert,  much  as  the  Swiss  get  a  green  patch  on 
the  mountains  where  all  else  is  rock.  This  country 
seems  pretty  much  mountain  and  also  abounds  in 
distances,  but  what  it  sadly  lacks  is  the  snow. 

We  went  on  to  St.  George,  which  we  reached  in 
time  for  dinner  at  the  hotel,  quite  a  diversion.  Here 
we  met  a  young  lady  canvassing  for  a  magazine.  I 
won't  mention  her  name  or  her  paper,  or  her  story, 
but  she  took  a  subscription  from  everybody  in  the 
[91] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

hotel,  I  guess,  except  myself.  The  cowmen  must  have 
subscribed  for  all  their  uncles  and  aunts  by  the  num- 
ber of  subscriptions  she  said  she  had.  I  think  we 
sized  each  other  up  at  the  start  and  so  could  laugh 
at  each  other  and  forget  the  magazine  story.  I 
never  checked  up  to  see,  but,  if  I  am  not  mistaken, 
others  did,  but  she  had  the  money. 

St.  George  is  quite  a  city  for  these  parts,  prob- 
ably eighteen  hundred  people,  a  telephone  system, 
several  stores,  and  a  big  Mormon  church  and  school. 
We  did  some  trading  here  and  got  some  pointers 
regarding  the  trail.  We  met  one  old  fellow  who  had 
come  to  California  in  1850.  He  used  to  own  part 
of  the  old  Stewart  Ranch  at  Las  Vegas,  but  now 
lives  about  eighteen  miles  from  here  at  Leeds. 
Here  we  heard  a  funny  railroad  story.  It  was  so 
far  from  a  railroad  that  nobody  could  see  the  point, 
but  any  one  accustomed  to  seeing  Mexicans  work- 
ing on  the  railroad, —  who  slowly  get  out  of  the 
way  of  a  train  when  the  fireman  rings  the  bell, — 
may  appreciate  it.  This  is  the  story  the  foreman 
tells : 

He  said  that  he  found  one  of  his  men  standing  at 
a  switch  close  to  a  rattlesnake  that  was  just  coiling 
[92] 


M  O  R  M  ON       HOUSE       AND 
\        IRRIGATION     DITCH 


The    Dixie    Country    of  Utah 

up  to  strike  him.  He  called  to  him  hurriedly,  "  Get 
off  the  track  there,  you  damned  fool!  Quick,  don't 
you  see  that  rattler?  "  The  Mexican  moved  very  re- 
luctantly and  the  foreman,  thinking  the  man  did  n't 
sense  the  snake,  said,  "  Don't  you  know  enough  to 
jump  off  the  track  when  you  see  a  rattler?"  The 
Mexican  only  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  said, 
"  He  no  ringa  da  bell !  " 

Well,  we  thought  often  we  had  heard  the  "  bell  " 
of  the  rattler,  but  never  did  see  one,  and  the  bell  we 
heard  we  put  down  to  a  species  of  locust. 

About  4  p.  M.  we  moved  on,  planning  to  go  to 
Cedar  City  before  resting  the  team,  and  from  there 
to  Marysvale.  We  drove  through  Washington,  the 
roads  here  being  fairly  well  travelled,  and  on  to  a 
water  hole,  where  we  camped  for  the  night.  This 
water  hole  was  down  in  a  small  canyon  and  we  had 
hard  work  getting  at  it  and  digging  a  basin  from 
which  we  could  dip  up  a  pail  of  water  at  a  time, 
but  finally  we  got  what  we  needed. 

The  next  morning,  Wednesday,  June  8,  Bob  woke 
us  up  and  said,  "  Tuck  is  sick."     I  was  up  imme- 
diately and  wanted  to  know  where  he  was.     "  He 
has  gone,"  said  Bob,  "just  wandered  off  sick." 
[93] 


The    Cruise   of   a    Schooner 

"  But  a  sick  dog  does  not  wander  off,"  I  said. 
"  Tell  us  if  you  know  anything ;  he  surely  is  n't 
here." 

Then  he  told  us  that  he  had  wakened  up  early  and 
not  seeing  Tuck  curled  up  at  my  feet  as  usual,  had 
thought  something  was  wrong  with  the  camp,  and 
jumped  up  and  dressed.  It  was  just  getting  light, 
and  looking  around  he  saw  all  the  horses  and  no 
sign  of  trouble,  but  no  dog.  Then  he  thought  the 
dog  might  have  gone  for  a  drink  and  so  now  that  he 
was  up  he  would  go  and  see.  Looking  down  into  the 
draw  he  saw  Tuck  lying  by  the  pool  of  water  cov- 
ered with  mud  which  had  dried  in  his  hair,  and 
apparently  asleep.  He  managed  to  coax  him  out 
and  up  to  him,  but  said  the  dog  did  n't  seem  to  know 
him,  acted  afraid,  and  looked  sick.  He  coaxed  him 
along  over  to  the  wagon  and  then  it  occurred  to  him 
that  the  dog  might  have  had  a  fight  with  some  ani- 
mal at  the  water  hole,  and  so  he  went  back  and 
climbed  down  and  looked  the  ground  over,  but  found 
no  sign  of  anything  except  the  dog.  When  he  came 
back  to  the  wagon,  the  dog  had  disappeared.  He 
found  his  tracks  where  he  had  wandered  off  down 
the  trail,  but  could  not  overtake  him  or  catch  sight 
of  him,  and  so  he  came  back  and  awoke  us.  "  He 
[94] 


The    Dixie    Country    of  Utah 

is  scared  and  sick,  and  hardly  knew  me,"  he  re- 
peated, "  and  now  he  has  wandered  off.  He  must 
be  crazy." 

The  doctor  said  "  rabies,"  and  I  threw  the  sad- 
dle on  Kate,  put  my  gun  in  my  belt  and  started  down 
the  trail.  I  soon  found  Tuck  and  as  he  did  n't  know 
me  and  looked  so  miserable,  I  pulled  out  my  gun 
and  left  him  there.  No  one  asked  any  questions 
when  I  returned,  and  we  ate  breakfast  in  silence. 
Starting  on.  Bob  went  ahead,  and  the  next  time  I 
saw  him  I  envied  him  his  tears.  I  knew  I  should 
have  felt  better  if  I  could  have  cried.  We  were 
quite  a  solemn  party  for  several  days. 

We  had  a  very  hard  road  to-day;  it  was  hilly, 
rocky,  and  sandy,  and  we  made  only  fourteen  miles. 
We  drove  through  Leeds  and  camped  about  four 
miles  south  of  Belleville,  in  a  gravel  wash  by  the  side 
of  Ash  Creek.  We  met  a  couple  of  fellows  who 
lived  at  Torqueville,  going  by  our  camp  on  their 
way  to  Cedar  City,  about  four  miles  from  where  we 
were  camped.  They  had  a  horse  and  mule  hitched 
together  and  were  leading  a  black  bronco  colt  which, 
when  it  saw  me,  promptly  broke  the  rope,  but  on  a 
second  look  allowed  me  to  catch  him.  They 
expected  to  go  to  Belleville  before  dark. 
[95] 


The    Cruise   of   a    Schooner 

Doc  and  I  then  concluded  we  would  try  Ash 
Creek  for  a  bath,  but  the  water  and  night  were  so 
cold  we  made  short  work  of  it.  Later  it  got  colder 
and  the  wind  blew  quite  hard,  and  we  needed  all  our 
bedding  to  keep  warm,  and  a  few  hitches  to  keep  it 
from  blowing  away. 

The  next  day  the  road  grew  worse, —  it  really 
was  the  poorest  excuse  for  a  public  road  I  ever  saw, 
and  I  have  seen  some.  The  four  miles  to  Belleville 
was  all  up  grade  and  full  of  rocks  that  had  to  be 
literally  climbed  over. 

Before  reaching  town  we  met  a  young  man 
freighting.  He  had  a  fine  big  team,  and  thirty-eight 
hundred  pounds,  he  said,  on  the  wagon.  His  off  mare 
had  pounded  her  leg  up  so  on  the  pole  that  he  had 
changed  her  to  the  nigh  side.  We  fixed  up  her  leg 
as  best  we  could  for  him,  while  he  used  all  the  words 
in  the  English  language  to  describe  the  road  and 
what  he  thought  of  it.  This  helped  us  some  and  we 
started  on,  feeling  we  were  probably  justified  in 
some  of  the  remarks  we  had  been  making. 

We  went  through  Belleville  (you  could  scarcely 
notice  it),  and  on  up  to  Kanarville,  five  thousand 
feet  elevation.  We  had  Kate  in  harness  this  morn- 
[96] 


The    Dixie    Country    of  Utah 

ing,  but  put  Dixie  back  again  this  afternoon,  as  we 
don't  want  to  give  Kate  too  much  work  too  soon. 
The  day  has  been  very  cool.  The  roads  were  bad 
and  dusty,  but  we  made  twenty  miles  and  camped 
not    far    from    Cedar    City    in    Rush    Lake    Valley. 

The  next  morning  we  were  up  a  bit  late;  it  was 
cold  and  we  were  chilly,  and  on  the  mountain  side 
were  patches  of  snow,  and  we  realized  we  had  gotten 
into  a  new  climate.  We  rode  with  our  coats  on 
until  the  sun  was  an  hour  high.  We  met  two  boys 
taking  a  bunch  of  cattle  from  around  Belleville  to 
the  Cedar  Mountain  Range  for  the  summer.  I 
understand  the  cattle  from  all  over  this  desert 
country  are  pastured  here  in  the  summer,  and  this 
bunch  was  only  one  of  many  that  are  driven  up  in 
the  spring  and  down  in  the  fall. 

The  roads  were  better  to-day  and  at  9:30  a.  m., 
on  the  morning  of  June  10,  we  reached  Cedar  City, 
as  nearly  as  we  could  tell  by  our  way  of  figuring, 
561  miles  from  Los  Angeles.  The  first  thing  we  did 
was  to  go  to  the  wagon  shop  and  have  a  hub  to  one 
of  our  wheels  filled.  It  had  dried  out  and  our  box- 
ing was  loose.  Next  we  went  over  and  put  up  at 
the  hotel,  where  we  found  a  good  place  for  the  team. 
[97] 


The   Cruise   of   a    Schooner 

We  decided  to  stay  here  for  a  day  or  two,  and, 
having  our  horses  cared  for  and  nothing  to  do,  we 
started  out  to  see  the  town.  We  met  two  Indians 
in  the  yard  and  after  some  small  talk  I  asked  one  of 
them,  "You  Piute?"  He  said,  "Yes."  "Are  the 
Indians  on  Clara  Creek  Piutes  ?  "  He  said,  "  No, 
they  Mud  Indians."  I  intended  to  inquire  the  dif- 
ference between  the  Piutes  and  Mud  Indians,  but 
did  n't  get  any  further.  I  concluded  they  must  be 
the  "  poor  white  trash  "  of  the  Ute  tribe,  living  as 
they  did  in  the  "  Dixie  country." 

Across  the  street  from  the  hotel  is  the  Co-Opera- 
tive  Store,  founded  in  1859 ;  the  cemetery  lies  across 
the  creek,  surrounded  by  a  brown  stone  wall.  We 
did  not  go  in,  but  noticed  several  tombstones  of 
people  who  had  died  in  the  years  from  1854  to  1860. 
This  surely  must  have  been  a  frontier  town  in  1854. 
It  seemed  hardly  possible  that  in  those  days  people 
would  come  away  out  here  in  the  desert  to  settle, 
but  the  town  is  really  the  best  we  have  seen  since 
leaving  San  Bernardino,  although  they  have  no  rail- 
road. In  1850  to  1860  lots  of  other  good  places 
were  not  on  a  railroad. 

They  raise  stock  of  all  kinds ;  all  the  hay,  grain, 
[98] 


The    Dixie    Country    o  f  U  t  a  h 

potatoes,  vegetables,  etc.,  they  need.  They  buy 
standard  groceries,  harness,  and  clothes.  It  is 
thirty  miles  from  here  over  the  desert  to  Lund  on 
the  Salt  Lake  Railroad.  This  town  has  probably 
twenty-five  hundred  people.  They  seem  a  quiet  lot 
of  folks  and  hospitable.  In  such  towns,  as  a  rule, 
the  younger  generation  is  going  out  into  civiliza- 
tion, leaving  the  older  folks  to  the  quiet  of  these 
desert  places.  Soon  the  old  folks  will  be  gone  and 
what  will  become  of  these  Mormon  settlements  in 
the  wilderness? 

The  next  morning  we  found  a  hose  and  pipe, 
which  enabled  us  to  wash  the  wagon.  This  helped 
some  as  it  was  getting  quite  dry.  We  also  put  all 
our  little  matters  into  shape  and  then  looked  the 
town  over  again.  We  saw  an  English  sparrow 
to-day,  the  first  since  leaving  California.  Our  most 
common  birds  have  been  the  Western  Jay,  or  Camp 
Robber.  We  bought  some  groceries  and  then  set- 
tled with  our  landlady  and  pulled  out.  We  had  slept 
one  night  in  a  bed  and  had  had  four  meals  at  a 
hotel,  and  felt  quite  spruced  up. 

It  is  3  p.  M.  as  we  start  north  on  our  way  to 
Marysvale,  which  is  about  one  hundred  miles  from 
[99  1 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

here.  Marysvale  is  on  the  railroad  and  we  expect 
to  get  some  mail  there;  our  last  was  received  at 
Las  Vegas. 

We  make  about  fourteen  miles  before  camping 
and  pass  quite  a  few  ranches,  which  seems  a  novelty 
after  so  much  desert.  We  saw  quite  a  few  robins 
also;  the  first  we  have  seen.  Bird  life  has  been 
scarce  in  the  desert  and  only  in  the  mountains  have 
we  seen  any. 

The  next  day  we  continue  up  the  valley  five  miles 
to  Parowan  and  four  miles  farther  to  Paragonah, 
then,  being  close  under  the  mountains,  we  finally 
turn  east  again  through  Red  Creek  Canyon  toward 
Bear  Valley.  We  climb  up  a  few  miles  and  camp 
for  noon. 

Bob  and  Doc  are  off  their  feed  to-day.  Doc  says 
it  was  the  water  at  Cedar  City  and  Bob  says  it  was 
the  cooking  at  the  hotel,  and  I  think  it  was  just 
sleeping  in  a  bed.  Anyway,  they  were  all  right  the 
next  morning. 

We    followed  the  creek   up   this   canyon   to   Bear 

Valley,    seventy-five   hundred    feet   elevation.      Here 

we   found  about  three  hundred  head  of  cattle   and 

thousands  of  sheep.     We  drove  down  through  this 

[100] 


The    Dixie    Country    o  f '  U  t  a  h 

valley  and  camped  at  the  east  end,  where  the  trail 
goes  out,  and  down  into  the  Sevier  River  Valley. 
There  were  several  ranch  houses  in  the  valley,  but 
all  deserted,  and  we  did  not  see  a  soul.  We  sighted 
quite  a  few  sage  hens  about,  but  they  all  had  young 
ones,  so  we  did  not  shoot  any. 

Our  camp  site  was  at  an  elevation  of  at  least 
seven  thousand  feet,  and  that  night  the  water 
in  our  canteen  and  in  our  wash  basin  froze.  We 
slept  warm,  however,  as  we  know  how  cold  it  can  get 
at  night  in  these  mountains,  and  so  put  on  all  the 
blankets.  We  also  know  how  hot  and  dry  and  dusty 
it  can  get  about  noontime. 

The  next  morning  we  strike  the  head  of  the  creek 
and  follow  it  down  to  the  Sevier  River.  On  the  way 
we  pass  more  grouse,  and  see  deer  and  cat  tracks, 
besides  lots  of  prairie  dogs  and  a  variety  of  birds. 
The  first  few  miles  the  road  was  good,  but  after  we 
reached  the  stage  road  down  in  Sevier  Valley,  it 
was  rough  and  dusty.  We  followed  the  valley  down 
and  stopped  for  lunch  at  the  mouth  of  the  Sevier 
River  Canyon.  The  canyon  is  ten  miles  long  and, 
while  picturesque,  is  anything  but  pleasant  to  drive 
through,  with  three  inches  of  dust  in  the  road  and 
[lOll 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

a  strong  wind  at  your  back.  We  camped  for  the 
night,  before  we  got  through  the  canyon,  right  on 
the  river's  edge. 

We  had  passed  several  freighters  on  the  road  from 
Marysvale;  some  of  them  had  four  horses  and  were 
pulling  two  wagons  in  regular  freighter  style.  We 
have  seen  nothing  of  importance  in  the  Sevier  Valley 
so  far  but  a  ranch  now  and  then,  raising  wild  hay 
and  cattle;  not  very  much  of  either. 

The  horses  are  still  doing  pretty  well.  Kate  has 
not  quite  regained  her  old  form,  but  we  work  her 
half  a  day  at  a  time.  To-morrow  we  v/ill  put  her 
in  for  all  day  as  Dixie's  neck  has  finally  grown  so 
bad  it  must  be  rested. 

While  in  camp  here  on  the  river  we  saw  a  right 
neat  piece  of  "  cow-work  "  by  a  boy,  not  over  four- 
teen years  old,  on  an  Indian  pony.  He  came  riding 
up  the  trail  bareback,  astride  a  dark  cream  colored 
pony,  without  halter  or  bridle,  swinging  his  rope, 
and  inquired  if  we  had  seen  any  cows  up  the  canyon. 
We  could  n't  remember,  so  he  went  on  up,  but  pre- 
sently he  came  back  and,  in  reply  to  my  inquiry 
as  to  whether  he  had  found  them,  he  said,  "  Yes, 
they  are  on  the  other  side  of  the  river,"  and  started 
[  102  ] 


M 


A    RANCH    IN     BEAR    VALLEY 


The    Dixie    Country    of  Utah 

down  the  bank  of  as  swift  and  rocky  a  mountain 
stream  as  I  have  ever  seen,  although  it  was  not  very 
wide  —  probably  two  hundred  feet.  The  pony  slid 
over  the  rocks  and  into  the  water,  which  was  about 
three  feet  deep.  The  current  nearly  threw  her  down, 
but  she  braced  herself  and  started  on,  stepped  into 
a  hole  and  the  water  came  up  even  with  her  back. 
The  boy  seemed  to  jump  straight  up  and  stand  on 
her  back,  and  as  she  clambered  out  into  shallow 
water  over  the  rocks  on  the  other  side,  he  just 
spread  out  his  legs  and  dropped  down  again,  and 
rode  up  a  draw  away  from  the  river  and  out  of 
sight. 

I  had  begun  to  wonder  what  had  become  of  that 
boy  when  I  heard  him  coming  back.  He  had  found 
his  cows,  about  six  I  suppose,  besides  three  or 
four  steers  and  a  few  calves,  fourteen  or  fifteen  head 
all  told,  and  was  bringing  them  down  to  the  river. 
Now  they  did  not  want  to  cross  the  cold,  rocky 
river,  and  I  thought  they  would  n't  do  it,  but  the 
way  that  pony  headed  them  off  and  pushed  them 
in  was  a  revelation;  and  they  swam  and  tumbled 
across,  some  of  them  getting  out  quite  a  distance 
down  stream;  then  the  boy  waded  in  with  his  pony 
[103] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

and  stood  on  her  back  in  the  deepest  places.  She 
stumbled  once  and  nearly  threw  him,  but  he  came 
down  on  her  back  instead  of  in  the  water,  and  as 
she  clambered  out  on  our  side  again  and  leaped  off 
with  him,  I  noted  again  that  the  pony  had  on  neither 
bridle  or  saddle,  and  the  boy  was  just  swinging  a 
loose  piece  of  rope. 

The  next  morning  we  continue  on  down  the  river 
to  Circleville.  We  get  out  of  the  canyon  and  the 
valley  widens  from  three  to  five  miles  and  we  soon 
reach  the  town  of  Circleville,  so  called  on  account 
of  the  circular  valley.  Here  we  buy  oats,  also  some 
hay,  and  try  to  get  bread,  but  without  success.  The 
houses  are  not  built  close  together  as  usual,  but 
scattered  all  over  the  valley. 

We  make  a  few  inquiries  here  as  to  the  shortest 
route  to  Green  River,  and  these  are  the  directions 
we  receive :  "  Go  up  Grass  Valley  by  Loa  to  Hanks- 
ville,  then  over  Dirty  Devil  to  San  Rafael  and  on 
to  Green  River."  This  didn't  sound  nearly  so  far 
as  the  way  we  had  planned  to  go  so  I  asked,  "  Any- 
thing the  matter  with  our  going  that  way  ?  " 

Our  informant  laughed  and  said,  "  Well,  that  is 
the  shortest  way,  but   there  is  n't  much   water  and 
[104] 


The    Dixie    Country    o  f  U  t  a  ii 

there  is  plenty  of  sand  and  not  many  folks  or  mucli 
trail." 

"  How  much  sand?  "  I  asked,  and  when  he  replied, 
"  Well,  I  guess  there  is  thirty  miles  of  it  getting 
over  Dirty  Devil,"  I  said  right  then  we  would  n't 
go.  He  then  asked  why  we  did  n't  try  going  up 
through  Marysvale,  then  up  Salida  Canyon  to 
Castledale,  and  out  that  way.  He  said  we  might 
have  a  chance  that  way.  We  certainly  would  not 
the  shortest  way,  and  as  this  latter  was  the  way  we 
had  in  our  minds  to  go,  we  told  him  so  and  he  seemed 
quite  relieved. 

"It  is  just  sure  poison  the  other  way,"  he  said, 
"  unless  you  go  horseback  and  keep  going."  We 
leave  our  friend  still  talking  about  Green  River  and 
start  on  for  Marysvale. 

I  think  we  must  have  left  the  Dixie  Country  when 
we  came  over  into  the  Sevier  River  Valley  from 
Parowan  and  Paragonah.  Although  I  am  not  sure 
that  there  is  any  definite  dividing  line,  we  do  feel 
a  difference.  The  people  here  on  the  Sevier  are 
newer  comers ;  the  houses  are  built  differently,  and 
as  we  get  closer  to  Marysvale  on  the  railroad  there 
seems  to  be  more  talk  of  new  irrigation  systems, 
[  105] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

litigation  and  general  cussedness,  which  to  my  mind 
is  a  sign  of  business  progress  not  in  evidence  below 
and  not  needed  here. 

Another  cold  dusty  day's  drive  brought  us  to 
Marysvale,  between  mountains  with  patches  of  snow, 
and  we  tie  up  and  make  a  raid  on  the  postoffice. 


ri06] 


Chapter  VII 

Along     the     Rio     Grande 
Western     Railroad 

WE  drove  into  Marysvale  on  the  morning  of 
June  15,  but  did  not  see  the  town  until  we 
were  directly  over  it,  so  to  speak.  It  lays  just  un- 
der a  bluff  and  we  were  literally  on  top  of  it  before 
we  could  see  it.  We  had  expected  to  find  a  much 
larger  place,  as  it  is  the  terminal  of  the  Rio  Grande 
Western  Railroad,  but  it  is  a  rather  dilapidated 
looking  town  of  only  three  hundred  population,  set 
down  in  a  basin.  The  location  is  ideal.  Swiss 
mountains  with  snow  caps  to  the  north  and  east,  a 
swift  little  river  on  the  edge  of  the  town,  and  high 
tablelands  to  the  south  protect  it  from  the  winds. 
It  could  be  made  a  charming  place  and  may  be  some 
day,  but  it  held  nothing  of  interest  for  us  except 
the  postoffice,  and  so  after  getting  our  mail  and 
some  provisions  we  started  for  Salina,  which  we  un- 
derstand is  about  seventy-five  miles  north  of  here  on 
the  railroad. 

[  107  ] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

The  trail  took  us  across  the  river  and  over  the 
Sevier  Range  of  mountains  into  Poverty  Flat,  which 
we  reached  at  2  p.  m.  The  pull  over  the  Sevier 
Range  was  short,  but  steep.  It  was  only  thirteen 
miles,  but  the  first  eight  seemed  to  be  straight  up. 
If  the  road  had  not  been  very  good,  it  would  have 
been  impossible  for  us  to  have  made  it  even  with 
three  horses,  but  having  reached  the  top  we  had  a 
magnificent  view,  and  we  enjoyed  looking  down  at 
the  town  and  river  and  over  the  mountains,  while 
the  horses  were  getting  their  lungs  into  working 
order  again,  before  dropping  down  to  Poverty  Flat. 

At  a  ranch  we  obtained  permission  to  put  our 
horses  in  the  corral  and  give  them  a  good  feed  of 
alfalfa,  and,  as  they  had  done  a  day's  work,  we  de- 
cided to  stay  here  until  the  next  day.  We  got  a  bit 
of  family  history  and  some  local  traditions  from  the 
man  at  the  ranch.  His  name  I  have  forgotten,  but 
that  is  immaterial.  He  did  not  belong  to  the  Race 
Suicide  Club.  He  had  ten  children  ;  two  were  married. 
He  and  his  family  live  in  the  town  of  Monroe  near 
here  in  the  winter,  and  the  children  go  to  school. 
They  come  out  here  and  farm  in  the  summer.  We  un- 
derstood Monroe  was  called  "  Monkeytown,"  and  it 
[108] 


Along   the    Railroad 

seems  that  both  the  town  and  the  mesa  were  nick- 
named by  an  Irishman  years  ago,  who  probably  was 
quite  a  wit,  and  the  names  still  stick.  Two  or  three 
different  parties  had  tried  to  make  a  living  on  the 
mesa  and  had  been  starved  out,  so  he  called  it  "  Pov- 
erty Flat."  He  evidently  was  a  man  who  had  ideas 
of  his  own,  and,  believing  most  of  the  folks  in  town 
to  be  only  imitators,  he  conceived  a  great  dislike  for 
them,  and  when  he  went  away  from  home,  which  he 
did  quite  frequently,  if  any  one  asked  where  he  was 
from  he  would  say,  "  From  Monkeytown."  So, 
while  it  is  "  Monroe  "  on  the  map,  it  is  still  "  Mon- 
keytown "  to  the  surrounding  country. 

The  next  morning  we  drove  past  Elsenor  and  on 
to  Monroe,  which  we  found  to  be  quite  a  good-sized 
town  with  telephone  and  electric  light,  and  it  seemed 
quite  up  to  date  for  a  town  away  from  the  railroad. 
From  Monroe  we  went  on  ten  miles  farther  to  Rich- 
field, a  town  of  two  thousand  population,  on  the 
railroad,  where  we  mailed  some  letters,  leaving  at 
3:30  p.  M.  for  Salina.  We  made  twenty-five  miles 
this  day  and  passed  through  three  Mormon  towns, 
all  seeming  prosperous,  and  the  country  well  irri- 
gated. Just  north  of  Richfield  we  saw  a  new  ir- 
[109] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

rigation  ditch  which,  when  completed,  will  take  care 
of  about  a  thousand  acres.  The  Sevier  Valley  here 
reminded  us  of  Southern  California,  but  the  orange 
trees  were  lacking.  The  day  was  fine,  but  the  snow 
still  lay  in  patches  on  the  mountains  and  the  air 
had  a  chill  in  it. 

We  camped  at  night  on  the  desert  side  of  the 
valley,  and  just  as  we  were  about  to  turn  in  the 
wind  came  up,  the  sky  was  overcast,  and  it  began 
to  rain.  So  we  put  down  our  wagon  cover  and  made 
the  bed  inside,  but  just  as  we  got  inside,  much  to 
our  disgust,  the  moon  came  out  and  it  was  all  over. 
We  were  inside,  so  we  stayed,  but  did  not  sleep  as 
well  as  usual. 

Friday  morning,  the  seventeenth,  we  drove  the 
twelve  miles  into  Salina,  over  a  very  dusty  road. 
That  short  sentence  seems  an  easy  way  over  twelve 
miles  of  horrible  road,  but  it  could  not  be  helped.  It 
was  the  only  road,  and  we  had  begun  to  find  that 
in  this  country  the  roads  were  all  dusty  that  were 
travelled  much,  and  those  that  were  not  travelled 
much  were  practically  impassable,  because  they  were 
not  roads  at  all  —  just  trails.  This  seemed  to  be 
the  dryest  year  in  the  history  of  this  country  and 
[110] 


Along   the    Railroad 

the  farther  along  we  went  the  more  complaints  we 
heard.  We  had  not  seen  any  rain  since  starting 
and,  except  for  the  false  alarm  of  the  night  before, 
we  were  to  travel  a  good  many  miles  more  before 
getting  rained  on. 

Reaching  Salina,  where  we  expected  to  leave  the 
railroad  and  go  east  to  Green  River,  we  made  a  few 
purchases  in  the  provision  line  and  then  inquired  as 
to  the  trail  over  into  Castle  Valley.  We  were  sur- 
prised when  told  we  could  n't  get  up  Salina  Canyon 
into  the  valley,  and  that  if  we  were  going  to  Green 
River  we  would  have  to  go  north  about  a  hundred 
miles,  and  that  while  it  probably  was  one  hundred 
and  fifty  miles  farther  that  way,  we  could  make  it 
easily  enough,  but  with  our  outfit  we  could  n't  pos- 
sibly make  the  canyon  trail  because  it  was  washed 
out.  As  this  was  not  the  first  time  we  had  been  told 
we  would  have  to  depart  from  our  straight  line  and 
go  around,  we  decided  not  to  be  easily  discouraged, 
and  so  began  to  look  about  for  some  one  who  knew 
absolutely  the  condition  of  the  trail. 

We  were  not  long  in  finding  a  young  fellow  who 
had  come  over  a  few  days  before,  and  he  walked  out 
and  took  a  look  at  our  outfit.  He  looked  quite  a 
[111] 


The    Cruise   of   a    Schooner 

while  at  the  wide  tires  and  the  wagon  top  and  finally 
said,  "  I  believe  I  could  make  it  with  my  team,  but 
I  would  advise  you  fellows  not  to  try  it." 

I  said,  "  Do  you  mean  that  your  team  could  take 
that  wagon  over,  or  do  you  mean  they  could  take 
your  wagon?  " 

"  I  mean  I  could  drive  them  over  with  that  wagon, 
but  they  are  used  to  the  mountains  and  rocks,  and 
I  don't  think  that  team  can  do  it." 

"  All  right,"  I  said,  "  over  we  go.  I  think  this 
team  is  as  good  as  yours,  and  if  you  can  do  it,  I 
can." 

So  we  started,  but  I  had  occasion  several  times 
to  think  he  was  right  before  we  got  there,  as  you 
will  see,  but  I  had  begun  to  believe  in  those  horses 
and  in  my  ability  to  drive  them  anywhere  with  that 
big  wagon,  except  up  a  tree. 


112 


Chapter   VIII 

Salina     Canyon 

LEAVING  town  we  drove  about  three  miles  to 
the  mouth  of  Salina  Canyon,  and  put  in  about 
two  and  a  half  hours  at  noon  so  that  the  horses 
might  be  in  good  shape  for  the  climb.  It  was  sixty 
miles,  we  were  told,  to  the  town  of  Emery  in  Castle 
Valley,  thirty  miles  of  which  was  up  grade  and  very 
rocky.  We  had  a  sack  of  oats  and  a  bale  of  hay, 
and  expected  to'  make  it  in  two  days  and  a  half. 

There  had  been  twenty  miles  of  railroad  built  up 
this  canyon,  but  it  had  been  all  washed  out  and  hung 
up  among  the  scenery,  before  ever  a  train  was  run 
over  it ;  and  that  seemed  to  be  the  condition  of  the 
trail  also  as  we  got  higher  up.  All  the  afternoon  we 
drove  three  horses,  and  the  trail  kept  getting  worse. 
Finally  we  found  a  piece  of  railroad  grade  we  could 
drive  on,  and  later  drove  through  a  railroad  tunnel. 
The  water  in  places  had  washed  trees  and  boulders 
weighing  a  ton  up  on  to  the  tracks,  where  it  had 
[113] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

not  washed  the  grade  away  entirely.  I  can  laugh 
now,  but  I  evidently  did  not  laugh  then  as  I  read  the 
following  extract  from  my  diary: 

"  This  is  the  most  dangerous  canyon  yet,  and 
driving  a  spike  team  on  the  edge  of  perdition,  with 
a  road  full  of  boulders  as  big  as  a  bushel  basket,  is 
not  restful." 

We  made  only  about  six  miles  this  first  afternoon 
in  the  canyon,  when  darkness  overtook  us,  and  after 
getting  through  the  tunnel  we  found  a  level  spot 
and  camped. 

The  next  morning,  June  18,  was  perfect,  and  our 
camp  at  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel,  in  a  circular  basin, 
was  so  interesting  we  did  not  get  started  until 
seven-thirty.  Right  at  the  start  we  had  a  long  climb 
that  taxed  the  strength  and  patience  of  the  horses, 
as  well  as  our  own.  In  some  places  we  could  not 
drive  spike,  so  Kate  and  Bess  had  to  do  their  best 
alone.  The  trail  twisted  and  doubled,  went  straight 
up  and  straight  down,  and  so  near  the  edge  of  the 
canyon  there  was  n't  six  inches  between  the  out- 
side wheels  and  nothing.  It  was  in  such  places  that 
it  was  dangerous  to  drive  three  horses  and  awfully 
hard  getting  up  with  two.  Between  watching  the 
[  1141 


Salina    Canyon 

road  and  the  horses  It  was  a  sleight-of-hand  per- 
formance not  to  have  smashed  the  water  barrel  on 
the  inside  next  the  rocks,  but  I  bumped  the  rocks 
only  once,  and  then  did  no  damage. 

About  ten  o'clock  we  worked  down  into  the  bed 
of  the  stream,  and  driving  up  through  the  water 
and  over  the  rocks  we  met  two  teams.  The  drivers 
apparently  did  n't  know  whether  they  would  be  able 
to  go  any  farther  or  not  and  were  off  on  foot  look- 
ing over  the  country,  leaving  the  teams  in  the  care 
of  the  women,  right  in  midstream.  We  drove  along- 
side and  asked  how  the  trail  was  above,  and  one 
woman  said  it  was  impassable,  but  that  they  had 
gotten  that  far  and  it  seemed  to  be  getting  worse. 
We  told  them  if  it  was  impassable  above  they  could 
get  down  very  easily,  and  as  people  do  not  seem  to 
want  to  talk  much  when  they  think  they  may  be  do- 
ing something  foolish,  I  avoided  smiling  and  drove 
on  up  stream,  just  as  a  colt  of  theirs  jumped  off 
the  bank  about  ten  feet  high,  and  fell  into  the  creek 
behind  us.  Fortunately  its  legs  were  not  broken.  It 
seemed  under  the  impression  that  our  outfit  was  the 
one  it  belonged  to,  so  it  floundered  up  stream  after 
us,  but,  soon  discovering  its  mistake,  turned  back. 
[115] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

When  we  stopped  for  lunch  a  lone  horseman  pulled 
up  and  inquired  if  we  had  seen  the  Johnson  outfit. 
We  concluded  that  was  as  good  an  excuse  as  any 
for  his  stopping  and  we  let  him  have  some  tobacco, 
which  was  evidently  what  he  was  looking  for  instead 
of  the  Johnson  outfit.  He  was  a  sheep  herder,  so 
we  let  him  pass  without  much  notice,  as  we  still 
had  some  of  the  cowpunchers'  antipathy  for  any 
one  who  herds  sheep,  although  many  years  had 
passed  since  we  had  "  punched." 

Starting  on  again  after  lunch,  the  first  three  miles 
were  worse  than  any  we  had  been  over.  Doc  went 
ahead  with  Dixie  and  would  wait  for  me  at  an  ex- 
tra hard  pull  and  put  her  on.  Bob  went  ahead  and 
mended  the  road.  Often  I  nearly  fell  out  of  the 
wagon  at  the  bottom  of  a  chuck  hole  on  a  down 
grade,  and  by  4  p.  m.  we  had  done  everything  but 
break  the  wagon  to  bits.  At  this  time,  however,  we 
were  encouraged  by  finding  that  the  canyon  had 
widened  out  somewhat,  which  indicated  we  were  get- 
ting to  the  top.  The  trail  got  better  in  spots  and 
then  worse. 

Reaching  an  open  spot  with  some  grass,  we 
camped,  not  knowing  how  far  we  had  come  or  how 
[116] 


SALINA    CANYON 


Salina    Canyon 

much  farther  it  was  to  the  top.  We  made  a  guess 
it  was  twelve  miles  and  that  about  three  more  would 
take  us  to  the  top.  Climbing  up  the  side  of  the 
canyon  to  a  big  rock,  and  looking  down  over  our 
camp  and  horses,  we  overlooked  all  their  shortcom- 
ings and  gave  them  credit  for  keeping  their  heads 
and  feet  under  the  most  trying  circumstances,  and 
were  quite  enthusiastic  over  their  ability  as  moun- 
tain climbers,  and  their  willingness  to  attempt  any 
task  we  put  them  at.  We  sat  here  until  the  moon 
came  up  and  gazed  long  at  the  valley  and  mountains 
without  much,  if  any,  conversation,  and  then  climbed 
slowly  down  and  turned  in. 

The  next  morning,  Sunday,  the  nineteenth,  we 
started  late  and  took  things  easy.  We  stopped  to 
watch  some  sheep  men  separating  a  bunch  of  sheep. 
It  was  an  interesting  performance  and  quite  a  rid- 
dle to  us  for  a  few  minutes  until  we  learned  what 
they  were  doing;  then  it  was  easy  enough  to  follow 
the  performance.  It  seems  that  the  man  who  owned 
the  sheep  had  sold  a  certain  number  of  yearling 
ewes  to  one  man,  who  was  there  to  take  and  pay 
for  them,  and  a  certain  number  of  two-year-old 
wethers  to  another  man.  Now  the  manner  of  sep- 
[117] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

arating  and  counting  was  as  ingenious  as  it  was  ex- 
act, as  the  reader  will  readily  see  from  the  following 
explanation  and  diagram: 


c 


B 


D 


E 


A  few  hundred  yards  of  fence  crossing  at  right 
angles,  with  the  flock  of  sheep  in  corner  "  A,"  is 
how  the  game  started.  They  were  all  driven  through 
"  B,"  a  chute  just  wide  enough  for  the  sheep  to  pass 
in  single  file.  Two  men  worked  the  chute,  and  when 
a  yearling  ewe  entered,  one  man  would  drop  a  gate 
behind  her  and  the  other  man  would  open  a  gate 
(1)  in  front  of  her,  and  she  would  walk  into  "  D." 
Then  the  gateman  closed  the  gate  and  made  a 
pencil  mark  on  it;  the  tally  man  tallied  one  ewe  on 
his  sheet,  and  the  chute  was  open  for  the  balance 
of  the  flock  of  rams,  ewes,  and  lambs.  But  when  a 
two-year-old  wether  got  in  the  chute,  down  would 
[118] 


Salina    Canyon 

come  the  gate  behind  him,  gate  2  would  open,  and 
he  would  walk  out  into  "  E,"  and  the  gateman  would 
make  a  pencil  mark  on  this  gate  and  the  tally  man 
would  tally  one  two-year-old  wether  on  his  sheet. 
So  the  performance  went  on  until  the  required 
number  of  yearling  ewes  were  in  corner  "  D," 
the  two-year-old  wethers  in  corner  "  E,"  and  what 
was  left  of  the  flock  was  over  in  "  C."  The 
tally  sheet  checked  up  with  the  pencil  score  on 
each  gate,  and  settlement  having  been  made,  the  man 
with  his  yearling  ewes  went  up  the  trail;  the  man 
with  the  two-year-old  wethers  went  down  to  the 
railroad,  and  the  flock  went  back  up  into  the  moun- 
tains, and  all  that  was  left  was  a  few  hundred  yards 
of  wire  mesh  fence  and  a  chute  with  closed  gates, 
which  had  helped  to  accomplish  in  an  hour  what 
would  have  been  impossible  otherwise. 

We  were  told  by  the  sheepmen  that  it  was  about 
five  miles  to  the  top,  which  we  finally  reached  about 
11:30  A.  M.  In  the  thirty  miles  from  Salina  to  the 
top  we  have  not  seen  a  sign  of  any  habitation,  which 
accounts  for  the  condition  of  the  trail.  If  any 
one  lived  up  here  who  had  to  drive  in  and  haul  out 
provisions,  he  would  have  to  make  a  road. 
[119] 


The    Cruise    of   a    Schooner 

We  have  been  just  two  days  making  this  thirty- 
mile  ascent  and  as  it  is  said  to  be  thirty  miles  from 
here  to  Emery,  our  plan  to  make  Emery  in  two 
and  a  half  days  from  Salina  is  knocked  into  bits, 
but  we  feel  very  well  satisfied  to  have  got  up  whole, 
and  are  actually  hilarious  as  we  apply  the  brakes 
on  a  fairly  good  trail  and  start  to  slide  down  into 
Castle  Valley. 


[120] 


Chapter   IX 

Castle     Valley 

OUR  first  camp  in  this  strange  valley  was  made 
Sunday  noon,  June  19,  just  as  we  had  started 
to  Emery  from  the  top  of  the  Divide.  We  found  a 
beautiful  little  grove  of  trees,  mostly  cottonwood, 
willows,  and  quaking  asp,  which  was  filled  with  wild 
roses.  The  roses  were  everywhere  and  we  called  it 
Rosedale  Camp.  We  spent  three  hours  here  and 
then  drove  about  ten  miles  farther  down  into  the 
valley,  following  a  small  alkali  stream,  and  camped 
some  fifteen  or  seventeen  miles  from  Emery. 

We  met  no  one  on  the  road,  but  just  as  we  made 
camp  a  man  came  along  from  Emery  with  a  team 
and  buggy,  looking  for  a  ranch  house  he  said  was 
on  a  branch  trail  somewhere  back  of  us.  While  he 
was  evidently  lost  he  said  he  had  lunch  and  horse 
feed,  and  if  he  did  n't  find  it  in  the  morning  he 
would  back  track  to  Emery.  I  asked  him  why  he 
started  alone,  and  he  said  he  had  been  there  once 
[121] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

before  and  thought  he  could  find  it,  but  that  evi- 
dently it  was  farther  than  he  had  thought  it  was.  I 
guess  he  was  a  wool  man  and  was  buying  from  the 
sheepmen,  although  he  did  not  say  so  and  we  did 
not  ask.  It  is  surprising  how  much  you  guess  in 
this  country  and  how  few  questions  you  ask.  In 
making  camp  we  found  we  had  only  enough  water 
in  our  barrels  for  camp  use,  so  I  took  the  horses 
over  to  the  alkali  stream  to  drink. 

We  had  by  this  time  got  down  into  the  valley 
proper,  which  was  really  a  mesa  surrounded  by 
mountains,  and  about  as  weird-looking  a  place  as 
could  be  imagined.  The  mountains  were  sheer  cliffs 
on  the  valley  side,  and  in  the  sunset  their  shapes 
and  colors  were  fantastic.  As  I  rode  over  to  the 
stream  I  began  to  think  of  fairy  tales  about  hob- 
goblins and  giants,  but  was  rudely  brought  out  of 
my  dreams  by  arriving  unexpectedly  at  the  arroyo, 
where  it  was  about  two  hundred  yards  wide,  with 
walls  as  perpendicular  as  those  of  a  house,  and 
about  fifty  to  seventy-five  feet  deep.  The  stream 
—  well,  it  appeared  along  the  middle  of  the  sandy 
bottom  in  spots  and  I  despaired  of  getting  a  horse 
down  there  or  of  getting  enough  water  for  three 
[122] 


Castle    Valley 

horses,  even  if  I  could  find  a  place  to  get  down,  as 
from  where  I  stood  the  stream  looked  about  the  size 
of  a  lead  pencil  and  the  little  spots  of  water  held 
about  a  panful  each. 

It  is  surprising,  however,  what  you  really  can  do 
if  you  have  to,  and  I  knew  instinctively  that  I  was 
going  to  find  a  way  to  get  those  horses  down  that 
perpendicular  wall,  and  water  them  somehow.  I 
dismounted  and  started  along  the  edge  looking  for 
a  way  down,  and  found  it,  over  the  roots  of  an  old 
Cottonwood  tree  and  into  a  wash,  where  I  slid  Kate 
down,  and  then  scooped  out  a  hole  in  the  miniature 
stream  from  which,  when  it  filled,  she  drank.  Then 
I  got  her  to  climb  up  and  slid  another  down  after 
much  persuasion,  and  so  later  the  third,  but  was 
careful  not  to  let  them  drink  too  much,  as  the  water 
was  pretty  strong. 

By  the  time  I  got  back  to  camp  it  was  nearly  dark 
and  Doc  and  Bob  were  waiting  supper  for  me.  We 
find  our  fireless  cooker  and  kerosene  stove  to  be 
real  luxuries  in  this  sort  of  a  country.  We  really 
live  high  (comparatively  speaking)  ;  our  appetites 
are  always  good  and  Bob  rarely  gets  up  anything 
that  does  n't  taste  fine.  Just  now  our  larder  con- 
f  123  1 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

tains  honey,  beans,  bread,  eggs,  oatmeal,  tea,  bacon, 
prunes,  seeded  raisins,  and  crackers. 

We  turned  in  early  as  usual  and  were  up  before 
it  was  really  light.  Doc  missed  getting  a  shot  at 
a  gray  wolf  right  near  camp.  He  said  he  took  it 
for  a  boulder  at  first  and  so  paid  no  attention  to 
it;  when  too  late,  he  saw  it  take  shape  and  steal 
away. 

We  left  camp  at  six-thirty.  The  trail  was  on  the 
west  side  of  the  valley  and  right  under  the  moun- 
tains, which  gave  us  a  good  opportunity  to  study 
them.  The  scenery  was  really  weird.  The  moun- 
tains took  the  shape  of  castles,  not  imaginary 
castles,  but  real  ones.  A  painter  could  not  paint  any- 
thing more  natural,  and  they  were  all  different. 
Each  castle  stood  guard  over  its  particular  part  of 
the  valley,  and  all  day  and  for  several  days  we  had 
a  never-ending  source  of  entertainment  in  this  sort 
of  scenery.  It  was  on  such  an  immense  scale  and 
combined  with  the  magic  colors  of  the  desert  coun- 
try, that  we  were  continually  gazing  at  it  and  not 
at  the  desert  underfoot,  and  so  missed  a  good  many 
chances  to  shoot  coyotes,  wolves,  and  mountain 
lions  that  were  invariably  dropping  out  of  sight 
f  124  1 


A  GLIMPSE  OF  CASTLE  VALLEY 


Castle    Valley 

into  a  guUey  or  behind  the  brush,  about  the  time 
our  attention  was  called  to  them. 

One  particularly  exciting  incident  happened  be- 
fore we  were  really  started  this  morning.  In  cross- 
ing a  wash  the  wagon  had  to  make  a  detour,  but 
Bob  on  Dixie  rode  straight  across,  and  after  top- 
ping a  rise  of  ground  he  got  off  and  sat  down  on  a 
rock  to  wait  for  us  to  catch  up.  As  we  came  over 
the  rise  I  saw  Dixie,  but  could  not  see  Bob  on  ac- 
count of  the  brush.  She  was  browsing  on  the  bushes. 
Just  beyond  ]icr  I  saw  a  mountain  lion,  right  out 
in  the  open,  quietly  stealing  down  toward  her,  evi- 
dently not  seeing  Bob  and  thinking  there  might  be 
a  colt  there  it  could  kill. 

The  speed  with  which  I  threw  on  the  brake  and 
called  to  Doc  to  get  his  Winchester  sort  of  flustrated 
Doc  and  also  flustrated  the  lion.  It  started  off  on 
a  trot  at  right  angles  down  the  mesa  as  Doc  pulled 
out  his  30-30  and  got  ready  for  action.  His  first 
shot  just  grazed  its  back  at  about  three  hundred 
yards,  and  then  the  fun  began.  Bob  jumped  into 
view  to  see  what  had  happened;  the  lion  started  for 
Colorado.  Not  in  any  reasonable  manner,  how- 
ever. It  seemed  to  be  shot  out  of  a  gun,  and  Doc 
[125] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

swung  his  Winchester  and  pumped  three  more  shots 
after  it.  All  of  them  seemed  to  be  in  the  general 
direction  the  lion  was  going,  but  they  only  served 
to  make  him  swerve  and  run  faster,  if  that  were 
possible. 

When  at  last  he  had  disappeared  from  sight  in 
the  dim  distance, —  he  actually  ran  out  of  sight  on 
bare  ground, —  and  the  smoke  had  blown  away.  Bob 
called  out,  "What  was  it.?" 

Doc  said,  "  Did  n't  you  see  it.''  " 

"  Well,"  said  Bob,  "  I  am  not  sure  whether  I 
did  or  not." 

I  called  over  to  Bob  and  said,  "  I  saw  it  start 
anyway,  and  what  you  saw  must  have  been  what  I 
saw  start." 

"  Gosh  all  hemlock !  "  —  or  something  like  that  — 
I  think  Doc  remarked ;  "  I  never  saw  anything  with 
four  legs  run  as  fast  before," — and  I  am  sure  he 
never  did,  nor  any  one  else. 

I  could  not  help  laughing,  although  Doc  seemed 
quite  chagrined  to  thing  he  had  not  killed  the  lion. 
I  admitted  he  had  missed  the  first  shot,  but  after 
that  no  bullet  could  have  caught  up  to  the  beast,  no 
matter  how  well  aimed. 

[  126  1 


Castle    Valley 

After  this  episode  nothing  especially  interesting 
happened,  and  we  soon  reached  Emery,  not  quite 
three  days  from  Salina.  We  nmst  have  made  about 
thirty  miles  yesterday  afternoon  and  this  morning, 
so  we  feel  quite  satisfied  that  we  did  not  go  a  hun- 
dred miles  to  get  around  that  canyon,  although  I 
guess  we  were  more  lucky  than  wise. 

The  little  Mormon  settlement  called  Emery  is 
scattered  all  over  the  mesa,  and  has  plenty  of  water 
to  irrigate  from  five  to  eight  hundred  acres,  which 
is  enough  to  support  the  town.  We  stopped  at  the 
hotel  for  dinner,  just  to  see  what  it  was  like,  and, 
while  we  had  plenty  to  eat,  we  seemed  to  create 
quite  a  stir.  We  were  the  only  guests,  and  unex- 
pected at  that,  so  the  two  girls  who  had  been  left 
in  charge  while  the  old  folks  were  on  a  trip  to  some 
railroad  town,  were  quite  a  bit  flustered.  We  stayed 
here  until  four-thirty  in  the  afternoon,  walking 
about  and  looking  the  natives  over,  and  inci- 
dentally waiting  for  the  postmaster  to  show  up.  In 
these  little,  out-of-the-way  phiccs  the  postoffice  is 
liable  to  be  run  by  somebody  who  appears  for  duty 
only  when  the  mail  comes  in  or  goes  out,  unless  he 
is  sent  for. 

[  127  ] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

I  put  in  part  of  the  time  trying  to  make  a  horse 
trade  in  the  street  in  f  I'ont  of  the  store.  I  did  n't 
want  to  trade  horses,  but  I  made  the  other  fellow- 
think  he  had  come  very  near  trading  me  a  bay  mare, 
about  Dixie's  size,  for  Kate,  and  so  I  got  a  line  on 
what  I  could  buy  her  for;  but  Doc  thought  her  a 
trifle  too  small,  so  when  the  postman  arrived  we  dis- 
agreed on  price,  and  parted. 

After  calling  for  our  mail  we  started  on.  We 
had  driven  only  about  five  miles  when  we  came  to 
some  grass,  which  we  never  pass  without  taking  toll 
of,  and  as  it  was  about  camping  time  anyway  we 
turned  the  horses  loose  to  graze  while  we  made 
camp. 

Tuesday,  June  21,  was  quite  a  day.  In  the  first 
place,  we  met  a  big  gray  wolf  about  one  hour  from 
camp  and  I  shot  liim  through  the  flanks  with  Doc's 
30-30,  but  missed  him  with  two  more  shots  before 
he  dropped  into  a  ravine.  He  was  bleeding  so  badly 
that  he  did  not  go  far,  but  as  we  were  in  a  hurry 
and  he  was  working  up  toward  the  mountains  we  con- 
cluded to  let  him  die  in  peace,  and  so  did  not  fol- 
low him  far,  although  his  trail  was  painfully  plain. 

Next  we  came  to  a  field  of  white  poppies.  From 
.     [128] 


Castle    Valley 

a  gray  wolf's  bloody  trail  to  white  poppies  does  not 
seem  odd  in  this  desert  country,  although  now  that 
I  am  writing  it  the  change  seems  rather  startling. 
The  California  poppy  we  admired  greatly,  but  this 
immense  field  of  white  ones  seemed,  if  anything,  more 
beautiful. 

In  two  or  three  miles  more  we  came  to  the  top 
of  a  hill  overlooking  the  town  of  Ferron.  Here 
we  had  a  splendid  view  of  the  mountains  to  the 
west,  with  a  Moorish  castle  looking  down  on  us, 
gray  buttes  below  us,  and  in  the  distance  the  town 
of  Ferron  with  its  bright  green  alfalfa  field,  Caro- 
lina poplars,  and  cottonwood  trees.  This  was  such 
a  grand  color  scheme  that  I  took  a  picture  of  it, 
forgetting  that  color  does  not  show  in  a  photograph 
and  that  immense  distances  are  beyond  duplication 
by  the  ordinary  lens,  at  least,  and  so  got  a  very 
unsatisfactory  picture. 

Passing  through  Ferron  we  made  camp  by  an 
irrigation  ditch,  under  a  cottonwood  tree,  and  did 
some  laundry  work,  which  was  put  to  dry  while  we 
ate  lunch,  after  which  we  drove  on  into  Castledale, 
stopping  at  Jim  Jeff's  Camp  House,  making  twenty 
miles  for  the  day.  Here  we  decided  to  stay  a  day 
[129] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

and  rest  the  horses,  so  after  feeding  them  all  we 
turned  Bess  and  Kate  into  his  pasture,  keeping 
Dixie  up  so  we  could  take  better  care  of  her  neck, 
which  was  quite  sore. 

Castledale  we  found  to  be  the  largest  town  in  Cas- 
tle Valley.  There  is  Emery  on  Muddy  Creek,  Fer- 
ron  on  Ferron  Creek,  and  Castledale  on  Cottonwood 
Creek,  and  beyond  is  a  town  called  Huntington  on 
Huntington  Creek.  These  creeks  or  brooks  a,re  all 
supposed  to  flow  into  the  Cottonwood  farther  down, 
but  each  little  town  takes  most  of  the  water  into  its 
irrigation  ditches  as  the  water  leaves  the  mountains, 
and  so  very  little  of  it  ever  gets  far  on  its  way  to 
the  valley  below,  except  in  freshet  times.  Any  one 
expecting  to  find  water  in  these  creeks  below  the 
towns  is  usually  a  tenderfoot,  and  needs  a  water 
barrel,  and  some  good  advice.  We  did  not  have  the 
advice,  but  we  had  the  water  barrel  and  so  far  have 
not  suflFered  for  good  water. 

Our  camp  was  in  Jim  Jeff's  yard.  He  had  a 
house  for  the  accommodation  of  freighters,  but  we 
preferred  the  ground.  However,  we  did  make  away 
with  a  great  many  of  his  eggs  and  some  green  stuff 
from  the  garden. 

[  130] 


Castle    Valley 

We  put  in  the  next  day,  Wednesday,  cleaning  up, 
writing,  and  making  a  few  purchases.  I  remem- 
bered that  this  was  the  day  my  sister  was  to  have 
been  married,  and  here  I  was,  fifty  miles  from  the 
railroad  in  a  desert  town,  unable  to  telephone  or 
telegraph,  and  I  had  expected  to  be  able  to  send 
her  a  message.  Doc  and  I  were  walking  down  the 
road  to  the  store,  when  on  the  side  porch  of  a 
house  I  saw  the  American  Telephone  and  Telegraph 
Company's  long  distance  sign  nailed  to  a  post. 

"  Hold  on,"  I  said,  "  there  is  a  familiar  look  to 
that  sign;  just  you  go  on  and  1  will  follow  it  up  and 
see  whether  it  is  going  to  do  me  any  good  or  not." 

So  into  the  house  I  went.  Here  I  found  a  girl 
who  was  running  all  the  telephone  business  for  the 
town  and  surrounding  country.  She  said  the  line 
ran  to  some  town  on  the  railroad,  the  name  of  which 
I  did  n't  catch,  but  that  did  n't  interest  me.  What 
I  wanted  to  know  was  if  I  could  talk  to  the  station 
agent  at  this  town,  and  when  I  found  I  could,  I 
said,  "  Well,  you  just  call  him  up  quick.  I  want 
to  say  something  to  him  real  sudden."  In  about  an 
hour  I  got  that  message  off  to  my  sister,  which 
shows  how  suddenly  things  happen  in  that  country. 
[  131  1 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

When  I  came  out  of  the  liouse  I  found  Doc  had 
made  the  necessary  purchases  at  the  store  and  was 
patiently  waiting  on  the  porch.  We  had  left  Bob 
at  Jeff's  place,  cleaning  up,  and  so  went  back  and 
helped. 

Our  day  here  was  not  especially  interesting.  The 
town  has  about  five  to  six  hundred  people  scat- 
tered about  over  quite  a  large  area.  During  the 
afternoon,  however,  things  began  to  liven  up. 
Young  fellows  from  a  few  miles  out  began  riding  in 
to  Jeff's  and  putting  up  their  horses  and  changing 
clothes.  It  seemed  such  a  funny  performance  that 
I  asked  Jeff  what  was  up.  "  Just  a  dance,"  he 
said,  and  walked  off  huffy-like.  I  could  n't  see  why 
that  should  bother  him,  but  I  found  out  afterward 
that  he  was  too  much  of  a  dyed-in-the-wool  old  Mor- 
mon to  appreciate  the  beneficial  results  to  the  young 
folks  of  indulging  in  a  free-for-all  dance. 

He  had  lived  here  thirty-one  years  and  had  ten 
children.  Incidentally,  I  might  say  one  wife.  We 
did  not  see  anywhere  any  evidence  of  polygamy  and 
I  guess  that  it  is  a  dead  issue.  His  house,  one  of 
the  best  in  town,  was  brick,  and  had  running  water 
in  it.  He  had  all  kinds  of  fowl  around  the  yard, 
[  132  ] 


Castle    Valley 

including  peacocks  and  hens.  Five  miles  east  toward 
Green  River  he  had  a  ranch  of  several  thousand 
acres ;  so  on  the  whole  he  was  quite  a  substantial 
citizen,  and  was  able  to  give  us  some  good  advice 
about  our  trail  between  here  and  Green  River. 

Just  as  a  sample  of  some  of  the  instructions  we 
had  been  getting  from  the  natives  en  route,  it  may 
be  interesting  to  give  Jim  Jeff's  instructions  as  to 
how  we  were  to  reach  Green  River.  They  were 
something  like  this,  but  not  verbatim:  "It  is  about 
sixty  miles  over  there  and  not  a  house  on  the  trail, 
and  on  account  of  the  dry  weather  (it  has  n't 
rained  here  in  three  months)  probably  all  the 
water  holes  are  dry  except  Huntington  Creek,  which 
is  alkali.  Don't  drink  any  yourself  and  don't  let  your 
horses  drink  much.  I  guess,  to  be  on  the  safe  side, 
you  better  plan  not  to  find  any  water,  so  fill  both 
your  barrels  and  be  careful  to  get  through  on  that, 
because,  although  there  may  he  water  the  horses 
can  drink  thirty  miles  from  here,  you  may  not  find 
it  as  it  is  off  the  trail,  and  if  you  depend  on  it  and 
miss  it  you  will  be  awfully  dry  before  you  get  to 
Green  River." 

Then  he  drew  us  a  diagram  of  the  trail,  told  us 
[  133  ] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

where  the  bad  places  were,  wished  us  good  luck,  and 
said  good-bje.  We  turned  in  for  an  early  start  in 
the  morning.  That  start  was  so  early  we  met  the 
young  folks  coming  home  from  the  dance. 

It  was  Thursday  morning,  the  twenty-third  of 
June,  that  we  filled  our  barrels  and  started  on  our 
sixty-mile  stretch  to  Green  River.  We  crossed 
Castle  Valley  to  the  east,  climbed  up  on  the  mesa 
after  crossing  Huntington  Creek,  and  made  about 
fourteen  miles  before  we  stopped  for  lunch.  From 
one  of  the  benches  we  had  a  splendid  view  of  the 
whole  of  Castle  Valley  and  could  see  sixty  miles 
south,  and  forty  miles  north,  from  this  point.  We 
picked  out  the  pass  over  the  mountains  to  the  south 
where  we  came  into  the  valley,  by  the  snow-capped 
mountain  above  it,  and  could  see  the  range  of  moun- 
tains distinctly  forty  miles  north,  and  our  row  of 
castles  to  the  southwest.  To  the  soutlieast  lay 
some  barren-looking  peaks  called  "  Robbers'  Roost," 
where  Bassett  and  his  gang  held  forth  for  so  long. 
It  was  a  hard  but  fascinating  country,  but  Bob 
brought  me  to  earth  as  I  stood  admiring  the  scene 
by  saying,  "  Some  society  and  a  little  water  would 
change  this  for  the  better  a  whole  lot,  would  n't 
[  134  ] 


Castle    Valley 

it?  "  I  didn't  say  anything,  but  thought  the  water 
would  certainly  help,  but  as  for  the  societj  I  pre- 
ferred the  prospect  without  habitations,  which 
would  take  away  the  charm  of  it  for  me. 

Starting  on  over  a  rolHng  country  at  about  four 
thousand  feet  elevation  we  met,  fortunately,  around 
3 :30  p.  M.,  two  men  in  a  buggy,  driving  one  horse 
and  leading  another.  They  told  us  it  was  about 
fifteen  miles  to  the  water  hole,  that  there  was  still 
a  barrel  of  water  there,  that  we  could  find  it  by 
watching  the  trail  after  we  had  gone  about  fifteen 
miles,  and  that  we  would  see  where  they  had  turned 
out  of  the  trail,  if  we  looked  sharp.  They  told  us 
the  water  was  not  where  they  had  turned  out,  as 
they  had  missed  the  place,  but  that  it  was  a  quar- 
ter of  a  mile  farther  on,  as  they  had  afterward 
discovered.  They  told  us  also  when  we  came  to  the 
forks  of  the  trail  to  take  the  right  fork;  that  was 
all,  but  it  was  enough. 

It  would  seem  like  a  difficult  problem  to  tell  when 
you  have  gone  fifteen  miles  in  such  a  country,  but 
we  could  calculate  that  about  as  easily  as  we  could 
tell  the  time  of  day  by  the  sun.  Having  lost  my 
watch  in  the  early  part  of  the  trip  I  had  discovered 
\  135  1 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

I  did  n't  need  it  anyway,  and  was  saved  the  trou- 
ble of  winding  it  every  night.  In  calhng  off  the 
time  to  Doc  and  Bob  I  found  that  I  agreed  with 
their  watches  almost  exactly,  although  once  I 
missed  it  by  fifteen  minutes ;  but  I  am  not  sure  I 
was  not  right  even  then. 

So  it  was  on  the  trail.  We  knew  how  many  hours 
we  had  been  travelling  and  could  tell  to  almost  a 
certainty  how  many  miles  we  were  making  per 
hour,  and  thus  had  no  difficulty  in  telling  how  far 
we  had  gone. 

When  we  had  climbed  to  the  top  of  another  rise 
Doc  said,  "  Well,  it  is  four  o'clock  and  we  are  fif- 
teen miles  from  water.  We  will  make  about  five 
miles  more  to-day,  and  then  we  can  water  the  horses 
to-morrow  morning  at  that  water  hole,  about  10  a.  m., 
and  just  let  them  do  without  water  for  break- 
fast." That  sounded  about  right  to  me,  but  I 
was  n't  sure  about  the  10  a.  m.  schedule.  I  thought 
we  could  make  ten  miles  before  10  a.  m.,  but  we  car- 
ried this  programme  out  almost  to  the  letter.  We 
drove  on  for  about  five  miles  and  camped  for  the 
night,  having  made  about  twenty-two  miles  of  the 
sixty  that  day. 

[136] 


Castle    Valley 

The  next  day,  Friday,  the  twenty-fourth,  was  a 
long,  hard  day.  The  horses  all  did  well,  but  it  was 
up  hill  and  down  over  rocks  and  through  heavy 
sand,  and  several  times  we  had  to  use  all  the  horses 
at  once.  About  nine-thirty  Doc  rode  Dixie  on 
ahead,  looking  for  the  place  where  the  buggy  had 
turned  out,  and  when  we  saw  him  waiting  for  us 
by  the  side  of  the  trail  we  knew  he  had  found  the 
water;  in  fact,  he  had  gone  right  to  it  with  the  di- 
rections we  had  received,  but  without  those  tell- 
tale wheel  tracks  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  water, 
I  do  not  believe  we  would  have  found  it. 

The  water  was  down  in  a  miniature  canyon,  in 
a  bowl-shaped  rock,  where  stock  could  not  get  to  it, 
or  the  sun's  rays  reach  it  for  any  length  of  time, 
and  this  rock  bowl  held,  when  full,  probably  twenty 
barrels  of  water.  The  little  stream  had  long  ago 
gone  dry,  but  here  out  of  sight  were  still  a  few 
barrels  of  water  left.  It  took  us  quite  a  while  to 
get  the  horses  down  over  the  rocks  close  to  the 
water,  and  it  was  a  case  of  bucket  brigade  to  get 
it  out  to  them.  When  we  had  them  back  at  the 
wagon  again  I  noticed  that  it  was  ten  o'clock ;  so 
we  did  find  the  water  before  ten,  but  I  did  n't  think 
[  137  ] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

there  was  enough  difference  in  time  to  call  Doc's 
attention  to  it. 

After  lunch,  about  4  p.  m.,  we  passed  a  wash  that 
looked  wet  to  me  and  I  asked  Doc  if  he  would  n't 
explore  it,  while  the  horses  rested  in  the  shade  of 
a  Cottonwood  tree.  He  came  back  presently  with 
the  information  that  there  was  good  water  about 
"  half  a  quarter  "  above,  so  we  unhitched  and  all  went 
up,  and  found  water  running  in  the  bed  of  the 
stream  for  about  four  feet  in  one  place  and  about 
ten  feet  in  another.  It  was  just  a  case  of  one  of 
those  underground,  bottom-side-up  streams  having 
a  leak  in  the  top,  and  the  water  had  come  up 
through.  The  find  made  us  feel  safe  on  the  water 
question.  We  still  had  water  in  our  barrels ;  had 
found  water  twice  for  the  horses,  and  just  where 
Jeff  had  told  us  we  might  find  it ;  and  felt  quite 
"  sot  up  "  over  it. 

We  camped  at  night  in  the  dry  bed  of  a  stream, 
the  bottom  of  which  was  covered  with  a  white  al- 
kali deposit,  that  looked  like  snow  and  was  nearly 
one-half  inch  thick.  We  concluded  this  must  be 
Soda  Creek  and  that  we  had  made  only  twenty  miles 

[138] 


THE     CLAY      BUTTES      NEAR 
GREEN      RIVER 


Castle    Valley 

during  the  day,  so  that  we  were  still  about  eighteen 
miles  from  Green  River. 

This  is  certainly  a  hard,  rough  country,  a  suc- 
cession of  canyons  and  mountains,  with  a  variety 
of  colors  in  the  sand  and  rocks.  We  have  not  met 
a  soul  or  seen  a  living  thing,  save  some  cattle  this 
evening  in  the  creek  bed.  Not  a  thing  lives  here,  it 
would  seem,  but  a  coyote,  now  and  then  a  skylark, 
and  a  few  lizards  and  horned  toads.  There  is 
plenty  of  grass  evidently  earlier  in  the  season,  but 
the  cattle  are  now  mostly  moved  out  on  account  of 
lack  of  water.  Those  we  saw  this  evening  were 
probably  overlooked,  or  else  have  a  few  alkali  holes 
still  available  somewhere  near.  It  is  surprising  how 
strong  water  the  cattle  can  stand  when  they  are 
used  to  it,  but  if  it  does  n't  rain  soon  in  this  coun- 
try even  the  birds  will  have  to  leave. 

We  were  up  the  next  morning  at  four-thirty  and 
were  under  way  at  six,  reaching  Green  River  at 
11  A.  M.,  over  a  variety  of  roads  and  through  the 
most  desolate  stretch  of  countr}^  I  have  ever  seen.  The 
sandy  desert  was  cheerful  in  comparison.  When  we 
came   down   from   among   the   bare   clay  buttes   the 

[139] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

trail  ran  along  a  little  stream  and  we  began  to  see 
signs  of  life, —  a  coyote  first,  then  a  queer  bird, 
trying  to  find  water  enough  to  swim  in.  It  was 
some  species  of  the  duck  family,  but  we  could  not 
find  a  name  for  it.  It  looked  like  a  cross  between 
a  mud  hen  and  a  duck,  was  gray  in  color  and  had 
a  short  bill.  It  had  probably  come  up  from  Green 
River  and  was  lost. 

As  we  crossed  the  railroad  track  coming  into 
Green  River  we  passed  a  big  sign  board  on  which 
was   printed : 

"  FOR  SALE 

7,000  acres  of  the  best  fruit  land 

in  the  world  by  a  Dam  Site." 

After  we  had  spent  two  days  and  a  half  in  that 
town  we  concluded  the  printer  had  probably  by  mis- 
take used  the  word  of  when  he  should  have  used  not. 

We  found  the  river  was  not  fordable  here,  but 
that  there  was  a  ferry  which  would  take  us  across 
if  we  wanted  to  go  to-day ;  to-morrow  it  would  stop 
running.  So  we  took  the  last  chance  and  crossed, 
camping  on  the  other  side  on  a  bare  bench  about 
two  hundred  yards  from  the  river.  There  is  one 
store  and  a  corral  here,  and  the  place  is  called  El- 
[  liO  1 


Castle    Valley 

gin.  Obtaining  permission  to  turn  our  horses  into 
the  corral  we  were  free  to  go  over  the  railroad  bridge 
to  Green  River,  get  our  mail,  inspect  the  town,  and 
buy  a  few  provisions. 

Our  trip  through  Castle  Valley  was  over,  and 
we  were  once  more  in  a  railroad  town,  so  we  decided 
to  stay  a  couple  of  days  and  give  the  horses  the 
rest  of  which  they  were  much  in  need. 


[141] 


Chapter    X 
Green      River     to      Grand      Junction 

SUNDAY,  June  26,  we  stayed  in  camp;  that  is, 
the  horses  did,  but  we  explored  Green  River 
and  the  surrounding  country,  took  a  bath  in  the 
river,  did  our  laundry  work,  and  tried  to  catch  some 
fish,  but  did  n't  get  a  bite. 

On  one  of  our  rambles  we  crossed  the  river  and 
went  about  a  mile  south  to  a  ranch  house  which  we 
found  deserted;  the  fruit  trees  were  all  dead  and 
the  alfalfa  had  been  overflowed  and  killed  out  in 
places.  It  was  an  ideal  place  for  a  house  here  on 
the  river  bank  with  big  cottonwood  trees  all  around, 
giving  plenty  of  shade.  The  house  was  made  of 
cottonwood  logs ;  in  fact,  almost  all  the  ranch 
houses  in  this  country  are  made  of  logs ;  near  the 
river  they  are  of  cottonwood,  and  near  the  moun- 
tains of  cedar  or  pine  logs.  We  noticed  a  great 
number  of  dead  orchards  which  were  being  cut  out. 

At  noon  we  went  uptown  to  a  restaurant  for  our 
[  142  ] 


Green  River  to   Grand  Junction 

dinner.  It  is  not  much  of  a  town,  and  most  of  it  is 
new.  They  seem  to  be  trying  to  raise  fruit  here, 
but  apparently  with  poor  success.  The  successful 
people  evidently  are  the  ones  who  can  sell  the  land. 
The  roads  are  very  dusty  and  the  land  seems  burned 
up.  They  have  had  no  rain  here  in  months,  and 
we  go  back  to  our  wagon  feeling  that  it  is  the  dryest 
looking  country  we  have  ever  seen,  and  that  there 
must  be  something  wrong  with  the  people.  With 
a  river  flowing  right  by  the  town  there  should  be 
better  use  made  of  it,  but  probably  they  do  not 
know  how.  The  people  are  not  Mormons ;  they  are 
newcomers  and  hence  what  might  be  called  "  ten- 
derfeet."  They  will  learn,  and  some  day  Green 
River  will  be  a  beautiful  little  city,  but  to-day  it 
lies  bare  and  dusty  and  new,  baking  in  the  sun. 

Monday,  Doc  and  I  went  on  an  exploring  trip 
down  the  river  and  Bob  stayed  about  the  camp.  We 
climbed  up  on  top  of  a  bare,  ragged  mountain  to 
see  what  we  could  of  the  country  and  the  river,  but 
with  not  much  success.  The  river  runs  througli  a 
canyon  and  can  not  be  seen,  and  the  country  is  much 
the  same  south  of  us, —  hard,  ragged  desert  buttes. 
This  is  evidently  the  beginning  of  the  formation 
[143] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

which  later,  at  the  Grand  Canyon,  is  so  wonderful 
a  sight.  Just  below  here  is  where  the  Green  and 
the  Grand  Rivers  come  together,  forming  the  Col- 
orado, and  from  there  on,  I  imagine,  the  canyon 
grows  in  depth  and  desolation,  until  near  Williams 
it  is  twelve  miles  wide  and  over  a  mile  deep. 

Returning  from  this  trip  on  foot  we  look  over 
the  horses  very  carefully  to  see  what  improvement 
they  have  made  in  the  two  days  they  have  had  to 
rest.  We  find  they  have  had  all  they  could  eat  and 
drink,  and  Bess  seems  to  be  in  her  usual  good  con- 
dition. Doc  says  she  is  the  most  wonderful  horse 
to  work  and  keep  it  up  without  wearing  out  he  ever 
saw.  She  has  so  far  been  in  harness  every  work- 
ing day,  against  Kate  and  Dixie  in  turn,  and  does 
not  seem  to  be  as  tired  or  sore  as  either  of  them. 
Dixie's  neck  is  still  in  bad  shape  and  Kate,  while 
apparently  looking  good,  is  really  "  dead  on  her 
feet,"  to  use  a  slang  phrase.  She  has  never  had 
a  chance  to  recuperate  from  that  setback  she  had 
in  the  IMojave  Desert  when  she  went  blind  and  bled 
at  the  nose,  and  so  in  looking  them  over  Doc  says, 
"  Well,  Kate  will  never  get  to  Grand  Junction." 
He  had  said  before  that  she  would  not  get  to  Green 
[  144  1 


Green   River  to   Grand  Junction 

River,  but  she  was  here,  and  apparently  in  pretty 
good  shape,  so  I  could  afford  to  laugh  and  tell 
Doc  that  Kate  would  go  as  far  as  either  of  the 
others. 

It  is  a  hundred  and  twenty  miles  from  here  to 
Grand  Junction  and  this  is  the  twenty-seventh  of 
June.  When  I  left  home  I  made  arrangements  to 
have  Mr.  Bradley  and  his  son  Norman,  of  Rock- 
ford,  Illinois,  and  my  son,  Norman,  join  us  at 
Grand  Junction,  Colorado,  on  July  fourth,  and  go 
with  us  through  Colorado.  It  had  seemed  a  little 
foolish,  sitting  comfortably  at  home  in  Chicago,  to 
say,  "  I  will  meet  you  at  Grand  Junction  on  July 
fourth."  There  had  been  a  good  many  times  since 
when  I  had  thought  it  better  to  send  word  to  them 
that  we  could  not  reach  Grand  Junction  at  the 
time  I  had  promised,  but  as  we  seemed  somehow, 
in  spite  of  the  many  difficulties,  to  keep  up  to 
schedule,  I  had  refrained  from  changing  the  date. 
Now  that  we  were  within  one  hundred  and  twenty 
miles  of  there,  with  six  days  in  which  to  make  it, 
I  felt  so  confident  that  we  would  have  no  trouble 
in  getting  through  a  day  or  two  ahead  of  time,  that 
I  sent  them  a  telegram  that  we  would  be  at  Grand 

r  145 1 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

Junction  and  ready  to  leave  July  fourth.  When 
we  returned  to  our  wagon  after  sending  the  tele- 
gram it  looked  like  rain;  in  fact,  we  were  so  sure 
it  would  rain  that  we  put  down  the  wagon  sheet 
and  slept  in  the  wagon.  That  night  was  the  sec- 
ond time  we  had  slept  in  the  wagon  since  starting, 
six  weeks  before,  from  Los  Angeles. 

When  we  awoke  the  next  morning  we  found  it 
had  rained  some  during  the  night  and  was  still  cold 
and  cloudy.  We  were  quite  elated  and  as  we  had 
not  had  any  experience  with  rain  since  leaving  Los 
Angeles,  we  started  off  very  joyously,  thinking  the 
dust  would  be  laid  and  water  would  be  plenty,  but 
we  were  hardly  under  way  before  we  discovered  our 
mistake.  The  roads  were  sticky,  the  country  was 
nothing  but  bare  clay  hills,  and  it  was  hard  on  the 
horses.  As  they  were  in  better  condition  on  ac- 
count of  their  rest,  we  made  twenty-five  miles  and 
thought  we  had  done  wonders,  although  we  did  not 
get  into  camp  until  late  because,  just  before  we 
reached  the  place  we  had  picked  out  to  camp,  we 
stuck  in  the  bottom  of  a  wash  and  had  to  unload 
most  of  our  stuff,  including  our  water  barrels. 
This  was  the  first  time  I  had  been  stalled  and  I  was 
[  146  ] 


Green  River  to   Grand  Junction 

quite  chagrined  to  think  I  had  got  into  a  place  I 
could  not  pull  out  of.  Doc  said  there  had  to  be 
a  first  time,  and  that  we  could  n't  expect  to  go 
through  without  getting  stuck  a  few  times,  but  I 
got  some  experience  here  and  never  did  it  again. 
The  boys  thought  I  was  too  much  "  sot  up  "  over 
my  driving  and,  I  think,  enjoyed  seeing  me  stuck, 
even  if  it  did  make  us  all  do  some  hard  work  for  a 
short  time  and  delayed  us  half  an  hour  in  getting 
into  camp.     This  is  the  way  it  happened: 

We  had  come  to  a  wash,  down  which  the  water 
was  rushing  over  the  rocks,  and  the  trail  dropped 
nearly  straight  into  it.  Bob  rode  Dixie  down  and 
then  rode  up  stream  looking  for  a  way  out  on  the 
other  side.  A  hundred  yards  above  and  around  a 
bend  the  trail  led  up  and  out,  and  without  thinking 
to  walk  up  on  my  side  and  take  a  look  at  it  myself, 
as  soon  as  I  saw  Bob's  head  coming  up  around  the 
bend,  I  dropped  right  down  into  the  stream  and 
drove  up  over  the  boulders  and,  when  too  late,  found 
I  did  n't  dare  to  stop  on  account  of  the  sand,  and 
brought  the  team  around  at  a  hard  angle  to  climb 
almost  straight  up  a  slippery  bank.  They  were 
winded  and,  with  wet  hoofs,  had  just  managed  to 
[147] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

pull  (the  wagon  up  out  of  -the  sand  and  water  when 
they  both  lost  their  feet,  but  hung  on  until  I  put 
on  the  brake  and  let  them  get  up  and  recover 
their  breath. 

I  knew  they  could  not  start  the  wagon  again  alone 
on  that  grade  so  I  told  Bob  I  thought  if  we  put 
Dixie  on  ahead,  the  three  of  them  could  do  it,  but 
they  did  n't.  Dixie  with  her  sore  neck  refused  to 
pull  after  she  had  tried  it  once,  and  so,  admitting 
I  was  stuck  and  needed  help,  we  all  went  at 
it  and  lightened  up  the  load.  We  carried  it  up 
the  hill,  and  then  with  Doc  and  Bob  pushing,  we 
got  the  wagon  up  and  were  soon  in  camp  at  a 
water-tank. 

The  place  was  called  Crescent ;  at  least,  a  sign 
board  on  the  railroad  near  the  tank  had  "  Cres- 
cent "  on  it,  but  the  sign  and  tank  were  all  there 
was  to  the  place.  We  had  a  good  place  to  camp 
here,  getting  a  supply  of  good  water  from  the  tank, 
and  a  couple  of  trees  near  by  gave  us  a  place  to  tie 
the  horses,  as  there  was  no  grazing  near  and  we 
did  not  want  them  to  stray  off.  We  had  some  hay 
so  we  thought  they  were  better  off  tied  up  with  that 
to  eat. 

It  still  looked  like  rain  so  we  slept  in  the  wagon 
[148] 


Green   River  to   Grand  Junction 

again.  When  we  woke  up  it  was  raining  hard.  "  At 
last  we  are  being  rained  on  proper,"  Bob  said,  and 
when  I  looked  out  I  could  liardly  believe  my  eyes  — 
everything  was  soaked.  The  horses  were  standing 
up  to  their  knees  in  a  miniature  lake;  the  harness 
under  the  wagon  was  wet;  and  the  rain  was  coming 
in  the  end  of  the  wagon  on  the  Doctor's  head. 

I  put  on  my  boots  and  rubber  coat  and  got  out  and 
rescued  the  horses  from  their  predicament,  moved 
the  wagon  around  so  the  rain  would  not  beat  into 
the  front,  and  we  stayed  inside  all  the  morning. 
We  had  a  cold  breakfast,  except  for  our  oatmeal, 
which  came  hot  out  of  the  fireless  cooker,  but  at 
noon  we  got  dinner  in  the  wagon  over  our  kerosene 
stove,  the  heat  from  which  dried  us  out,  and  at  2 
p.  M.,  the  rain  having  stopped,  we  started  on. 

The  roads  were  very  heavy  and  slippery  and  the 
little  gullies  we  had  to  cross  were  washed  out,  and 
we  had  great  times  getting  over  them.  One  place 
we  had  to  build  a  bridge,  which  we  were  able  to  do 
out  of  railroad  ties  that  had  floated  down  from  the 
track  in  a  gully  near  at  hand.  A  mile  or  two 
farther  on  we  came  to  a  wash  we  could  not  cross 
except  by  cutting  down  the  bank,  but  we  had  nothing 
save  an  axe  to  do  it  with. 

[149] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

We  had  needed  a  shovel  badly  all  the  afternoon, 
but  here  we  must  have  one.  We  could  see  the  sta- 
tion of  Thompson  about  two  miles  beyond  and, 
concluding  there  must  be  a  shovel  there,  I  crossed 
the  wash  on  Dixie,  and  made  a  run  for  it  to  Thomp- 
son so  as  to  get  there  and  back  before  dark. 
Fortunately  there  was  a  shovel  to  be  had.  There 
were  two  in  town  and  I  got  back  with  one  in  time 
for  us  to  get  across  the  wash  and  into  Thompson 
by  7  P.  M.  Here  we  bought  hay,  bacon,  and  the 
shovel  I  had  borrowed,  and  drove  on  to  the  top  of 
a  hill  where  we  camped  and  prepared  our  supper  by 
lantern  light. 

We  were  tired  out,  but  had  only  six  miles  to  show 
for  the  day,  half  of  which  had  been  spent  in  the 
wagon  during  the  rain,  and  the  balance  mostly  in 
digging  and  in  building  a  bridge.  It  had  been 
cloudy  and  cold,  and  to-night  wc  got  out  our  over- 
coats to  keep  ourselves  warm.  Two  days  of  the 
six  were  gone  and  only  thirty-one  of  the  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty  miles  were  covered.  It  did  n't  look 
as  though  we  would  have  much  time  to  spare,  but 
we  expected  better  conditions  from  here  on,  now 
the  rain  was  over,  and  felt  we  could  easily  reach 
Grand  Junction  some  time  on  the  third  of  July. 
[150] 


Green   River  to   Grand  Junction 

The  next  morning,  June  thirtieth,  we  were  late  in 
starting,  having  been  up  late,  for  us,  the  night 
before,  and  it  was  eight-thirty  before  we  broke 
camp.  The  same  clay  ridges  and  washes  were  in 
store  for  us,  however.  The  trail  was  bad  enough 
at  best,  running  at  right  angles  to  the  clay  ridges, 
but  the  rain  had  done  the  rest  and,  as  no  team  had 
been  over  the  trail  since  then,  we  were  in  for  a  hard 
day's  work  with  axe  and  shovel.  That  shovel  was 
worth  everything  to  us  to-day. 

By  way  of  variety  we  saw  several  coyotes  and  had 
our  first  breakdown.  Again  Doc  tried  to  console 
me  by  asking,  "  You  did  n't  expect  to  get  through 
without  a  breakdown,  did  you?  "  But  while  I 
expected  it  some  time,  it  surprised  me  when  it  came, 
and  also  made  me  mad  at  myself,  as  it  was  simply 
carelessness.  I  had  been  dropping  down  into  wash- 
outs all  the  morning  and  pulling  out  again  without 
any  trouble,  after  the  boys  with  the  axe  and  shovel 
had  made  it  possible.  In  fact,  I  was  so  used  to 
making  the  hard  ones  that  I  slid  carelessly  down 
into  a  little  one,  let  the  brake  loose  just  a  fraction 
of  a  second  too  quick,  hit  the  opposite  bank,  and 
the  front  wheels  rolled  out  from  under  the  wagon, 
and  I  walked  out  behind  the  horses  and  left  Doc 
[151] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

sitting  on  the  seat  alone.  The  reach  or  coupling 
pole  had  snapped  about  eighteen  inches  behind  the 
front  axle.  An  investigation  showed  we  had  pole 
enough  left  and  if  we  had  a  brace,  and  a  three- 
quarter-inch  bit,  we  could  soon  make  repairs. 
While  our  tool  box  contained  almost  everything  else 
We  had  needed  heretofore,  from  horseshoe  nails  up, 
we  did  not  have  a  brace  and  bit,  and  we  sat 
looking  at  the  wreck  and  trying  to  devise  ways 
of  getting  the  proper-sized  holes  made  in  the  reach. 
Doc  suggested  making  a  fire  and  heating  a  bolt  and 
burning  a  hole,  but  there  was  no  wood  and  our 
kerosene  stove  would  not  answer  for  that  sort  of  a 
job. 

We  could  see  in  the  distance  a  section  house  on 
the  railroad  and  Bob  thought  the  section  men 
would  surely  have  a  brace  and  bit,  and  so,  to  save 
time,  the  boys  volunteered  to  unload  the  wagon, 
pull  out  the  reach,  and  have  lunch  ready  by  the 
time  I  had  ridden  over  there  and  back.  We 
could  return  the  tools  as  we  drove  by. 

I  had  a  good  long  horseback  ride  in  a  very  short 
time,  but  I  did  n't  get  what  I  went  after.  Two 
Japs  were  all  I  found  at  the  section  house  and  they 
[152] 


Green   River  to   Grand  Junction 

had  a  few  crowbars  and  shovels,  but  nothing  else. 
I  asked  how  far  it  was  to  the  next  place  where  I 
could  get  a  brace  and  bit  and  was  told  it  was  twenty 
miles  to  Cisco,  but  the  foreman  would  bring  one  next 
week.  I  knew  we  could  make  those  holes  easier  than 
by  riding  twenty  miles  and  back,  and  quicker  than 
by  having  the  foreman  bring  us  a  brace  and  bit  next 
week,  so  I  thanked  them  for  a  drink  and  hurried 
back. 

I  found  dinner  ready,  the  wagon  unloaded,  and 
the  reach  ready  to  be  repaired,  and  better  yet,  Bob 
had  found  a  gimlet  which  we  had  overlooked  before. 
It  was  a  delicate  tool  to  use  in  hardwood,  but  after 
lunch  we  managed  to  get  the  reach  ready  for  use 
and  were  loaded  up  and  off  again  at  3  p.  m.  We 
soon  found  we  had  our  front  stanchions  on  wrong 
and  had  to  raise  up  the  wagon  and  turn  them,  so 
that  by  the  time  we  had  this  done,  and  had  stopped 
at  the  section  house  for  water,  it  was  4:20  p.  m., 
and  we  were  only  ten  miles  from  our  morning  camp. 
This  was  discouraging  enough,  but  from  here  on  the 
washes  were  not  so  frequent  and,  in  between,  the 
roads  were  good,  so  we  made  ten  miles  more  before 
we  camped. 

[  153  1 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

We  had  made  fiftj-one  miles  in  three  days  and 
there  remained  only  three  days  in  which  to  make 
sixty-nine  miles,  and  we  began  to  worry  about  the 
kind  of  roads  we  would  find  from  here  on,  but  we 
had  met  no  one  who  could  tell  us.  We  camped 
near  a  section  house  called  Whitehouse,  but  the 
man  there  did  n't  know  anything  about  wagon 
roads  except  that  we  were  the  first  wagon  outfit  he 
had  seen  in  some  time,  so  we  just  hoped  for  better 
things  and  turned  in. 

"  It  never  rains,  but  it  pours,"  some  one  has 
said,  and  that  evidently  was  what  happened  between 
Whitehouse  and  Cisco,  for  we  were  until  11  a.  m. 
getting  there,  only  six  miles.  We  filled  washes, 
mended  a  bridge,  and  were  tired  enough  when  we 
pulled  into  town.  A  store  and  postoffice,  the  rail- 
road station  and  corral,  was  every  building  there, 
but  it  looked  large  to  us  and  we  were  able  to  buy 
some  provisions  of  the  canned  order,  get  a  bale  of 
alfalfa,  and  the  storekeeper  gave  me  one-half  his 
supply  of  oats,  which  was  just  a  pailful. 

Still  sixty-three  miles  to  Grand  Junction  and  we 
are  told  the  trail  following  the  railroad  is  washed 
out  and  in  the  same  condition  as  the  one  we  have 
[  154] 


Green  River  to  Grand  Junction 

just  come  over.  We  are  advised  to  try  getting  to 
Grand  Junction  over  what  they  call  the  old  narrow 
gauge  route,  or  old  grade. 

On  the  theory  that  it  cannot  be  any  worse  that 
way,  we  cross  over  the  railroad  tracks  and  go  north. 
The  road  is  bad,  however,  and  mostly  uphill  this 
afternoon,  and  by  7  p.  m.  we  figure  we  have  made 
only  eight  miles,  or  fourteen  for  the  day.  The 
horses  are  tired  and  discouraged.  We  camp  by  a 
mud  hole  for  water  and  turn  the  horses  loose  to 
graze.  The  country  is  mountainous  and  of  clay  for- 
mation, and,  aside  from  a  little  bunch  of  grass  here 
and  there,  is  bare. 

We  began  to  be  worried  about  getting  to  Grand 
Junction  by  the  third  and  concluded  we  would  n't 
try.  We  had  not  agreed  to  be  there  before  the 
fourth  anyway,  we  said,  and  so  after  deciding  not 
to  get  there  before  the  fourth  (which  decision  was 
especially  funny  because  we  knew  we  could  n't  pos- 
sibly get  there  before  and  perhaps  not  then),  we 
turned  in.  We  were  not  a  very  hilarious  party  and 
I  think  the  horses  had  begun  to  tire  of  life  as  well. 
They  certainly  looked  dejected. 

Saturday,  July  2,  was  much  like  Friday,  only,  as 
[  155  1 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

some  one  remarked,  "  more  so."  Our  shovel  was 
continually  in  demand.  We  had  one  very  long  hard 
pull  after  lunch  which  finished  Kate  up  entirely, 
and  at  5 :30  p.  m.  we  camped  near  a  patch  of  grass, 
after  making  about  fourteen  miles,  as  near  as  we 
could  guess,  leaving  us  forty-one  miles  still  to  go. 
We  crossed  Cottonwood  Creek  about  nine-thirty 
this  morning  and  Westwater  Creek  at  4  p.  m.,  and 
are  probably  about  six  miles  from  Bitter  Creek. 
Cottonwood  and  Westwater  Creeks  both  had  the 
sandy  side  up,  and  we  do  not  expect  any  better  of 
Bitter  Creek. 

Kate  is  tired  out  and  still  I  do  not  want  to  put 
Dixie  into  the  collar  yet,  as  her  neck  is  nearly  well, 
and  I  want  it  to  get  entirely  well  before  I  put  her 
in  to  take  Kate's  place.  If  Kate  can  only  hold  out 
until  we  get  to  Grand  Junction,  we  can  rest  her 
there,  and  Dixie's  neck  can  then  probably  stand 
the  collar  again.  Good  old  Bess,  she  never  com- 
plains, but  works  every  day.  Luckily  she  has  not 
been  laid  up  at  all  as  yet  and  apparently  is  made 
of  iron.  She  goes  on  day  after  day  seemingly  just 
as  fresh  as  when  she  started. 

We  have  two  hours  of  daylight  left,  so,  as  Bob 
[156] 


Green  River  to   Grand  Junction 

volunteers  to  make  camp  and  get  supper,  Doc  and 
I  take  the  rifle  and  climb  up  on  a  mesa,  where  we 
find  small  pine  trees  and  big  rocks,  and  from  which 
we  get  a  beautiful  view  of  Mt.  Wagg  and  Mt. 
Tomasaki.  We  have  been  in  sight  of  Mt.  Wagg 
ever  since  we  left  Green  River.  We  sat  there  for 
a  full  half-hour  and  then  returned  to  camp. 

Just  as  we  sat  doA\Ti  to  eat  we  saw  a  camp  wagon 
coming  up  the  trail  from  the  east.  The  wagon 
sheet  was  clean  and  it  was  a  brand  new  outfit;  we 
could  see  that  a  mile  away.  The  team  was  fresh, 
and  a  man  and  woman  sat  on  the  front  seat. 
Behind  was  a  lead  horse,  and  brhiging  up  the  rear 
a  make-believe  cowboy  and  cowgirl.  He  was  car- 
rying a  rifle.  While  they  passed  us  within  a  hun- 
dred yards,  they  never  saw  us  (apparently),  and 
(apparently)  we  never  saw  them.  We  put  them 
down  as  a  wedding  party  from  Grand  Junction  — 
they  looked  so  new  and  acted  so  green. 

This  was  the  first  camping  outfit  we  have  met  on 
our  trip  since  reaching  the  desert  and  we  are  nearly 
across  to  the  Rocky  Mountains  now,  so  evidently 
they  are  not  very  numerous,  and  as  to  sociability, 
—  well,  up  to  date  we  have  n't  found  any  one  to  be 

r  157  1 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

sociable  with.  If  you  mind  your  business,  the  other 
fellow  minds  his,  and  no  questions  are  asked. 

We  had  about  forgotten  the  camp  wagon  outfit 
when,  in  taking  a  look  about,  we  noticed  their  camp 
tire  about  two  miles  west  at  a  water  hole  we  had 
watered  at  as  we  passed.  They  were  still  there  when 
we  pulled  out  in  the  morning. 

As  I  started  to  hitch  up  I  found  Kate  was  prac- 
tically "  all  in,"  so  we  were  put  to  it  to  devise  some 
means  to  reach  Grand  Junction  by  to-morrow,  the 
fourth.  We  had  given  up  getting  there  before  and 
we  still  had  forty-one  miles  to  go,  but  I  was  bound 
to  be  there  to-morrow  if  it  took  a  horse,  so  we 
decided  to  lighten  the  ship,  so  to  speak,  by  throw- 
ing away  everything  we  did  not  need.  First  came 
the  water  barrels  and  platform.  The  barrels  being 
empty  were  of  no  use  to  us  to-day,  and  by  making 
a  forced  march  we  could  get  to  Grand  Junction 
without  them,  and  after  that  we  would  not  need 
them.  Then  we  threw  overboard  samples  of  ore, 
rocks,  and  all  extra  bolts  and  spikes ;  also  a  bunch 
of  hay  we  had  left,  and  figured  we  were  about  a 
hundred  and  fifty  pounds  the  lighter.  Then  wc 
put  Dixie  on  the  pole  with  Bess,  padded  up  her  col- 
lar, put  a  rope  on  the  pole  to  take  the  weight  off  her 
[158] 


WE    ABAiNDON    OUR    WATER 
BARRELS 


Green  River  to  Grand  Junction 

neck,  and  leaving  Kate  to  take  care  of  herself  as 
best  she  might,  we  started  over  the  last  few  miles  of 
desert  which  separated  us  from  Grand  Junction 
and  its  orchards  on  the  western  slope  of  the 
Rockies.  First  we  took  a  picture  of  the  barrels 
and  wrote  our  names  on  them. 

I  did  so  hate  to  leave  Kate,  but  I  hated  worse  to 
miss  being  at  Grand  Junction  on  the  fourth,  after 
having  only  so  recently  confirmed  the  statement 
that  we  would  be  there.  Besides,  the  Doctor  had 
telegraphed  Mrs.  Lancaster,  who  was  on  her  way 
home  from  San  Francisco,  that  he  would  meet 
her  there  and  for  her  to  stop  off  and,  as 
she  was  quite  sick,  he  was  very  anxious  to  be  there 
to  meet  her. 

We  had  not  gone  far,  however,  before  I  saw  that 
Kate  was  following  us  and  I  figured  that  if  she 
would  stay  near  the  trail,  some  one  would  pick  her 
up  and  care  for  her,  or  else  she  might  reach  Mack, 
which  we  figured  could  not  be  more  than  twenty 
miles  away.  We  had  a  few  very  hard  places  to 
cross,  but  as  a  rule  the  grade  was  down  hill  and  the 
wagon  ran  better  without  the  barrels,  and  we 
pushed  ahead  so  fast  that  we  made  camp  within 
four  miles  of  Mack  by  twelve-thirty. 
[159] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

While  we  were  eating  our  lunch  we  heard  Kate 
nicker,  back  up  the  trail,  and  very  shortly  she  came 
up.  We  had  lost  sight  of  her  long  before  and  when 
she  came  up  greeted  her  as  a  long-lost  cousin.  We 
gave  her  a  feed  of  oats  and  then  got  her  some 
water  out  of  a  water  hole  near  at  hand,  and  con- 
cluded that  if  she  wanted  to  come  so  bad  we  would 
not  discourage  her;  so  when  we  started  up  again 
we  thought  she  would  follow  us  in  to  Mack  where, 
if  necessary,  we  could  leave  her.  When  we  got 
nearly  to  town  she  was  so  far  behind  that  Bob  vol- 
unteered to  wait  for  her  and  ride  her  in,  so  we  left 
Bob  and  went  on. 

Leaving  the  team  in  front  of  the  store,  we  hunted 
up  the  man  who  ran  it  and  bought  some  hay  and 
oats  of  him,  also  some  groceries,  as  we  were  short. 
When  we  came  out  to  the  wagon  there  was  Kate, 
but  no  Bob.  He  came  shortly  afterward,  having 
walked  in.  He  said  he  sat  down  by  the  side  of  the 
trail  to  wait  for  Kate  and  he  could  hear  her  nicker- 
ing as  she  came  along,  just  as  though  she  were 
crying,  and  as  she  came  around  a  bend  he  got  up 
to  catch  her,  but,  although  she  seemed  hardly  able 
to  walk,  she  must  have  mistaken  him  for  a  "  hold- 
[160] 


Green   River  to   Grand  Junction 

up  man  "  for  she  ran  by  him  and  he  never  could 
catch  up  with  her.  So  he  walked  in,  much  to  his 
disgust  and  our  merriment. 

We  were  now  in  Colorado,  having  crossed  the 
State  line  and  left  Utah  behind.  We  found  Mack 
a  very  neat  little  place,  with  about  a  dozen 
houses,  and  at  the  end  of  a  wagon  road  which  led 
straight  down  along  the  railroad  track  to  Grand 
Junction,  with  a  fence  on  botli  sides,  and  irrigation 
ditches  and  ranches  along  the  way  for  twenty  miles. 
It  seemed  like  another  country,  sure  enough.  We 
had  travelled  so  long  in  the  desert  and  without  a 
real  road  that  we  were  surprised  when  we  saw  one, 
and  the  fences  looked  strange.  Here  were  real  peo- 
ple along  the  road  in  buggies  and  wagons  and  on 
horseback.     We  just  looked,  and  said  nothing. 

We  drove  about  four  miles  along  this  road  and 
then  made  camp,  fifteen  or  sixteen  miles  from  Grand 
Junction,  feeling  quite  sure  we  could  get  into  town 
about  noon  the  next  day.  We  still  had  Kate  with 
us  and  I  told  Doc  we  ought  to  feel  pretty  good,  as 
we  were  going  to  "  make  it,"  bringing  all  the  horses 
through  and  on  schedule  time.  He  did  n't  say  much, 
but  that  night  as  we  lay  on  the  tarpaulin  trying  to 
[161] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

sleep  and  dodging  a  few  rain  drops  from  a  thunder 
shower,  I  asked  him  what  he  was  thinking  about, 
and  he  said,  "  Nothing  at  all."  About  an  hour 
after  that  he  suddenly  asked  me  what  I  was  think- 
ing about.  I  had  supposed  he  was  asleep  long  ago 
and  was  too  surprised  to  answer  at  first.  I  had  been 
thinking  how  much  nicer  it  was  camping  out  in  the 
desert,  and  how  shut  in  I  felt  between  fences,  and 
how  disgusted  the  horses  must  feel  to  be  tied  to  a 
fence  post,  and  that  if  I  were  left  to  my  own  incli- 
nations I  would  turn  around  and  go  out  into  the 
desert  again.  I  did  not  want  to  admit  this,  how- 
ever, as  it  seemed  so  foolish,  so  I  quickly  said,  "  I 
asked  you  the  same  thing  an  hour  ago ;  you  answer 
first." 

What  do  you  suppose  he  said.'' 

"  That  desert  has  got  into  my  system.  I  don't 
feel  right;  for  fifty  cents  I'd  turn  around  and  go 
back." 

I  laughed  a  rather  sheepish  laugh  and  said, 
"  Doc,  you  have  answered  your  own  question. 
Let 's  try  to  forget  it  and  go  to  sleep." 


[  162 


Chapter    XI 

Grand      Junction,      Colorado 

MONDAY  morning,  July  fourth,  found  us  on 
our  way  into  Grand  Junction,  over  good 
roads,  and  while  we  had  to  go  a  little  slow  on  Kate's 
account,  we  had  no  special  mishap.  The  country 
on  both  sides  was  taken  up  by  alfalfa  and  fruit 
ranches,  and  one  or  two  small  towns  we  passed 
through  seemed  quite  busy  and  prosperous.  At 
Fruita,  a  little  town  about  ten  miles  out,  we  picked 
up  an  Indian  and  gave  him  a  ride  almost  to  to^vn, 
and,  showing  the  Indian's  characteristic,  he  de- 
parted without  thinking  it  worth  while  to  thank 
us. 

We  ate  our  lunch  outside  of  town  and  as  we  drove 
slowly  down  the  main  street,  just  at  1:30  p.  m., 
looking  for  a  place  to  put  up,  we  were  hailed  by 
Mr.  Bradley  and  the  boys,  who  had  finished  their 
lunch  and  were  out  looking  for  us.  They  had 
arrived  in  town  only  an  hour  before.     It  certainly 

r  163 1 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

was  a  hilarious  meeting  and,  as  they  had  located  a 
corral,  we  drove  over  there  and  put  up  the  horses, 
backed  our  wagon  into  the  middle  of  the  yard,  and 
the  race  to  be  at  Grand  Junction  on  July  fourth  was 
won,  with  Qii  miles  to  our  credit. 

Just  to  feel  at  home  we  all  repaired  to  the  St. 
Regis  Hotel  to  clean  up.  This  took  some  time,  but 
when  we  finally  got  our  store  clothes  on  we  realized 
it  was  the  fourth  of  July,  hence,  a  holiday,  and  no 
mail  to  be  had  and  no  stores  open ;  so  we  took  in 
the  town  and  the  newspaper  bulletins  of  the  Jeffries- 
Johnson  prize-fight,  and  also  told  the  boys  how  we 
had  made  and  enjoyed  the  trip.  The  Doctor 
received  a  telegram  stating  that  Mrs.  Lancaster 
would  not  arrive  until  the  next  evening. 

That  night  we  tried  to  lay  out  a  plan  for  our  trip 
to  Denver.  The  boys,  Norman  Bradley  and  Norman 
Harris,  both  wanted  to  ride  horseback,  so  we  had  to 
have  an  extra  horse.  Instead  of  three  there  would 
be  six  in  the  party,  so  we  must  get  our  tent,  which 
we  had  sent  on  from  Daggett,  California,  as  we  could 
not  expect  to  sleep  on  the  ground  in  the  mountains, 
and  could  not  all  sleep  in  the  wagon.  So  we  planned 
it  out  that  night  after  a  fashion,  although  the  Doctor 

r  164 1 


Grand    Junction,    Colorado 

was  uncertain  as  to  just  what  condition  his  wife  was 
in  and,  therefore,  thought  he  might  have  to  go  home 
with  her. 

This  put  quite  a  damper  on  the  party,  but  we  had 
decided  to  stay  in  town  a  day  or  two  longer  to  rest 
our  horses  and  make  our  purchases,  and  we  hoped 
that  Mrs.  Lancaster  would  be  well  enough  so  the 
Doctor  could  finish  his  trip  with  us. 

We  were  up  early  the  next  day,  shopping  and 
getting  ready  for  a  new  start.  The  horses  were  shod 
and  inquiry  made  for  another  one.  The  question  as 
to  which  route  to  take  was  discussed  with  various 
people  and  we  finall}'  decided  to  go  up  the  Gunnison 
River  and  over  INIarshall  Pass,  instead  of  up  the 
Grand  River,  through  Glcnwood  Springs,  and  over 
Tennessee  Pass.  It  is  a  longer  and  harder  route  up 
the  Gunnison  and  I  suppose  we  chose  it  on  that 
account  and  also  because  we  had  never  been  over 
that  way  by  train. 

In  the  afternoon  while  calling  on  Mr.  Adams  of 
the  Delta  County  National  Bank,  he  asked  me  sud- 
denly what  hotel  we  were  stopping  at,  and  when  I 
said  the  St.  Regis,  he  said,  "  Perhaps  you  had  better 
go  over  and  get  your  things ;  It  is  on  fire."  Not- 
[165] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

withstanding  his  quiet  way  of  breaking  the  news  to 
me  I  made  a  hasty  exit  and  found,  as  I  reached  the 
door  of  the  hotel,  that  our  whole  party  had  arriyed 
at  the  same  time  from  different  directions.  We 
found  our  rooms  and  had  our  luggage  out  in  short 
order,  although,  not  having  our  keys,  we  had  to 
break  in  the  doors.  The  fire,  fortunately,  did  not 
do  as  much  damage  as  the  water,  but  the  guests  were 
homeless,  so  to  speak,  and  we  immediately  sought 
out  new  quarters  at  the  Navarre  Hotel,  and  the 
excitement  was  over. 

I  had  not  yet  been  able  to  find  the  horse  I  wanted. 
I  had,  however,  decided  to  let  the  boys  ride  Kate  and 
Dixie.  This  would  be  easy  work  for  the  horses. 
Dixie's  neck  would  get  a  chance  to  heal,  and  Kate 
ought  to  be  able  to  carry  one  of  the  boys  and  keep 
up  with  the  wagon,  if  she  was  not  asked  to  do  any 
fast  travelling.  Bess  could  pull  her  share  over  the 
mountains,  I  was  quite  sure,  with  any  horse,  even  a 
fresh  one,  although  she  needed  more  rest  than  the 
two  days  she  was  getting.  Still,  we  expected  our 
work  would  not  be  so  hard  from  now  on,  as  we  would 
have  real  roads  and  would  rest  oftener. 

I  located  a  big  brown  gelding  that  afternoon  that 
[166] 


Grand    Junction,    Colorado 

was  being  worked  double  on  a  transfer  wagon.  lie 
was  a  tough  one,  I  could  see,  but  he  had  so  many 
faults  I  was  advised  not  to  take  him.  He  would 
balk  and  kick  under  certain  conditions,  and  under 
others  he  would  run  away.  He  was  afraid  of  a  gun 
and  of  automobiles,  and  was  about  as  unsafe  a  horse 
as  one  could  pick  out  to  take  up  in  the  mountains 
on  a  trip  of  this  kind;  but  I  liked  his  looks  and 
could  not  find  another  that  I  thought  could  do  the 
work,  and  so,  after  some  reflection,  I  bought  him. 

I  knew  that  if  he  took  a  notion  to  run  that  we 
would  probably  be  wanting  to  go  in  that  direction 
anyway,  and  if  he  got  going  too  fast,  Bess  and  the 
brake  could  slow  him  up.  If  he  refused  to  pull,  I 
could  probably  talk  him  out  of  it,  and  as  a  tired 
horse  soon  gets  to  be  a  good  horse,  I  was  pretty  sure 
that  I  could  make  a  tired  horse  out  of  him  very 
shortly  and,  therefore,  a  good  one.  We  would  need 
him  only  while  our  party  was  large  anyway,  and 
when  the  boys  left  I  expected  to  sell  him,  so  we 
added  him  to  our  list  as  a  liability,  and  the  boys 
having  learned  of  his  tricks,  called  him  "  Cyclone." 

We  had  nearly  finished  our  preparations  by  eve- 
ning and  were  quite  anxious  to  hear  the  Doctor's 
[167] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

report  after  Mrs.  Lancaster  arrived.  He  seemed 
quite  worried  after  he  had  met  her  and  brought  her 
up  to  the  hoteh  We  could  not  get  him  to  say  much 
that  night,  but  the  next  morning  he  told  us  he  would 
have  to  go  home  with  her,  as  he  felt  she  was  too  sick 
to  go  farther  alone,  and,  although  Bob  offered  to  go 
with  her,  the  Doctor  felt  she  needed  a  doctor's  care. 
So  our  party  was  broken  up.  Bob  deciding  to  go 
with  the  Doctor,  and  thus  my  two  partners  of  the 
desert  were  leaving. 

I  hated  to  have  them  go,  but  I  could  not  ask  the 
Doctor  to  stay  under  the  circumstances.  Bob  had 
made  the  trip  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  so  to 
speak,  but  Doc  and  I  had  planned  to  go  through 
together.  We  had  followed  many  a  trail  before, 
sometimes  on  foot,  often  on  horseback,  and  again  by 
wagon  or  boat,  but  always  he  was  there  at  the  end 
and  we  would  shake  hands  at  parting  and  agree, 
when  the  frost  came  again,  to  do  it  over.  But  we 
knew  we  would  not  make  this  trip  over  again  and  he 
was  not  going  through.  I  knew  how  he  must  feel, 
so  tried  to  be  cheerful  and  talk  about  something  else. 

It  was  a  very  quiet  party,  therefore,  which  sat 
down  to  dinner  together.  Mr.  Bradley,  the  two  boys, 
[  168] 


Grand    J  u  n  c  t  i  o  m  ,     Colorado 

and  I  were  to  leave  immediately  afterward.  The 
Doctor  and  Mrs.  Lancaster  and  Bob  were  going  to 
stay  over  and  take  the  train  the  next  morning.  At 
one-thirty  we  had  our  new  team,  Bess  and  Cyclone, 
hitched  to  the  wagon.  Norman  Bradley  was  to  ride 
Kate,  and  Norman  Harris  was  to  have  Dixie  for  his 
saddle  horse.  Immediately  afterward,  having  said 
good-bye  to  my  old  camping  partners  and  Mrs. 
Lancaster,  we  pulled  out  for  Delta,  Colorado. 

Mr.  Adams  had  given  me  letters  of  introduction 
to  various  people  along  the  route,  so  that  I  did  not 
have  that  lonesome  feeling  in  starting  on  this  second 
lap  of  the  journey  into  the  mountains  that  I  did 
starting  on  the  first  lap  into  the  desert. 


[169] 


Chapter    XII 

The     Mountains 

WE  leave  Grand  Junction  a  new  party,  but 
with  the  same  outfit,  except  a  nev/  horse. 
We  arrange  our  work  practically  the  same  way  as 
before,  Mr.  Bradley,  or  "  Brad "  as  he  is  dubbed 
for  convenience,  doing  the  cooking,  Norman  (Brad- 
ley) and  Norman  (Harris),  dubbed  "Pete"  for 
identification  purposes,  doing  the  packing,  dish- 
washing, and  scouting.  The  horses  fell  to  m^'  lot 
as  usual,  as  well  as  the  driving,  in  which  Brad  some- 
times took  a  hand. 

Our  first  objective  point  was  Delta,  about  forty- 
five  miles  up  the  Gunnison  River,  along  which  the 
Denver  &  Rio  Grande  narrow  gauge  runs.  Our 
road,  however,  was  several  miles  away  from  the  river 
and  railroad,  and  through  a  deserted  country.  We 
did  not  leave  Grand  Junction  until  the  afternoon  of 
July  sixth,  and  we  drove  about  sixteen  miles  before 
making  camp,  just  beyond  Kannah  Creek,  beside  an 
[  170  1 


The     Mountains 

irrigation  ditch.  Our  new  horse  Cyclone  was  a  bit 
fast  and  flighty,  but  so  far  not  harmful,  and  we  took 
special  pains  to  see  that  he  did  not  break  loose  and 
go  back  home.  The  boys  had  to  try  out  their  small 
calibre  rifles  on  the  prairie  dogs  and  doves  near 
camp.  They  had  better  success  hitting  doves  than 
dogs,  so  we  had  some  doves  for  breakfast. 

Our  first  night  out  we  slept  on  the  ground, 
although  as  there  were  only  four  of  us  we  could  have 
slept  in  the  wagon,  which  we  did  afterward  to  be 
sure  not  to  be  rained  on  and  also  to  avoid  rocks, 
which  were  usually  too  numerous  for  comfort,  and 
it  was  too  much  of  a  task  to  clear  a  large  enough 
space  for  sleeping  quarters. 

The  next  morning  we  had  everything  working 
smoothly.  Brad  was  an  old  camper  and  good  cook 
and  had  no  trouble  in  holding  up  his  end,  so  that 
we  were  off  at  seven  o'clock.  At  least  we  started 
to  start,  but  Cyclone,  when  the  wagon  did  not  start 
easy  on  account  of  a  big  boulder  under  the  wheel, 
decided  to  go  backward.  I  got  Into  an  argument 
with  him  at  once,  but  concluded  It  policy  to  agree 
with  him,  so  we  went  backward.  He  soon  tired  of 
that  way  of  going  and  we  resumed  our  onward  way. 
[171] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

Our  road  had  about  five  miles  of  rocks  and  two 
bad  hills,  but  we  stayed  right  side  up.  By  2  p.  m. 
we  had  come  about  twenty-five  miles  and,  having 
reached  the  Gunnison  River,  we  decided  to  stop  for 
the  day.  We  had  been  Avithout  water  since  morning, 
and  our  route  had  been  a  dry  and  dusty  one,  so  we 
hailed  the  river  and  grass  with  delight. 

The  boys  went  fishing  while  Brad  and  I  sewed  a 
flap  on  the  wagon  sheet.  They  came  back  with  a 
sucker  and  a  bullhead,  or  rather  they  brought  back 
only  two  fish,  one  sucker  and  one  bullhead,  both 
caught  by  Norman. 

This  camp  with  running  water,  shade,  and  grass 
was  the  best  we  had  had  since  starting  from  Cal- 
ifornia. I  expect  now  that  we  are  getting  close  to 
the  mountains  we  will  have  plenty  of  wood  and  water 
and  some  very  beautiful  places  to  camp. 

We  were  troubled  some  with  mosquitoes  for  the 
first  time,  so  got  out  our  mosquito  netting.  We  did 
not  have  much  need  for  it  afterward  except  occa- 
sionally when  camping  by  a  stream  in  the  woods. 

Next  morning,  Friday,  July  eight,  we  drove  into 
Delta.  This  is  quite  a  prosperous  town  and  the 
country  immediately  surrounding  it  is  well  irrigated, 
[172] 


The     ]M  o  u  n  t  a  i  n  s 

and  the  farmers  along  the  river  look  as  though  they 
were  all  domg  well.  We  spent  the  best  part  of  the 
day  here.  We  had  tires  set  on  two  wheels  and 
besides  making  a  few  purchases,  we  lightened  our 
load  by  sending  home  the  tent  and  cots  we  had  taken 
on  again  at  Grand  Junction ;  also  a  box  of  clothes. 

We  intended  to  get  our  lunch  at  the  hotel,  but 
when  we  went  over  there  about  noontime  the  pro- 
prietor, a  woman,  was  evidently  quite  alarmed  for 
the  safety  of  her  guests  and  told  us  she  was  sorry, 
but  we  could  not  register.  We  probably  did  look 
like  desperate  characters  and  so,  being  refused 
admittance  to  the  hotel,  we  w^ent  on  down  the  street 
and  found  a  lunch  counter  where  we  got  what  we 
wanted.  The  boys  were  quite  elated  to  think  that  we 
had  been  refused  admittance  to  the  hotel  because 
we  looked  so  much  like  desperadoes,  but  Brad  and 
I  concluded  the  woman  was  a  tenderfoot  and  her 
real  reason  for  being  fussed  was  that  we  had  no 
coats. 

Our  wagon  was  not  to  be  ready  until  later,  so  we 

had  time  to  look  the  town  over,  and  then  came  back 

and  helped  the  blacksmith  set  the  tires.     We  were 

all   ready    at   four-thirty,   so    started   for  the  next 

[  173  ] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

place,  a  town  called  Hotchkiss,  where  I  had  a  letter 
to  Mr.  Simonds,  president  of  the  North  Fork  Bank, 
and  I  expected  to  interview  him  regarding  the  roads. 

Leaving  Delta  we  found  the  roads  were  good  for 
eight  or  nine  miles,  or  as  far  as  we  went  that  after- 
noon. We  crossed  the  Gunnison  River  again  just 
before  we  made  camp.  The  river  from  here  up 
apparently  has  no  banks,  but  runs  through  a  canyon, 
with  perpendicular  walls  in  places,  which  several 
miles  farther  up  is  several  thousand  feet  deep.  It 
is  called  the  "  Black  Canyon  of  the  Gunnison,"  and 
while  we  got  several  glimpses  of  the  river  a  few 
days  later,  it  was  nearly  a  week  before  we  got  down 
to  it  again. 

Our  camp  near  the  river  was  disagreeable  on 
account  of  mosquitoes  and  dead  cattle,  the  latter 
being  in  evidence  near  all  water  holes.  The  season 
has  been  so  dry,  and  the  water  so  scarce,  and  what 
there  was  so  bad,  that  I  presume  more  cattle  died 
this  summer  than  usual. 

We  left   early  the  next   morning  and  by  eleven- 

fourteen   were   at   Hotchkiss,  sixteen  miles,  and  up 

grade  all  the  way.     Here  at  the  north  fork  of  the 

Gunnison  we  camped  and  I  saw  Mr.  Simonds.     He 

[  174] 


The    Mountains 

told  us  about  the  road  and  I  found  we  would  have  to 
travel  seventy-five  miles  before  getting  down  to  the 
river  level  again.  We  would  go  through  Crawford 
and  Crystal  Creek  and  up  over  the  Black  Mesa  and 
then  down  again  to  Sapinero,  which  was  on  the 
river  and  also  the  railroad.  He  thought  we  could 
make  the  trip  through  O.  K.,  although  it  was  not 
easy,  but  when  I  asked  him  if  there  was  any  easier 
way  he  laughed  and  said,  "  Not  unless  you  can  fly  "  ; 
and  we  often  wished  we  could  before  we  got  to 
Sapinero. 

We  reached  Crawford,  about  fourteen  miles  from 
Hotchkiss,  at  5  p.  m.  It  lies  in  a  pretty  valley  and, 
while  it  is  an  old  town,  the  inhabitants  were  evi- 
dently quite  prosperous,  as  they  were  mostly  putting 
up  new  houses  or  adding  to  the  old  ones.  We 
stopped  just  outside  the  town  by  a  brook,  and  had 
a  good  camp.  We  had  come  thirty  miles  that  day 
and  felt  we  were  making  good  progress. 

The  next  morning  we  drove  twelve  miles  to  Crystal 
Creek,  reaching  there  at  ten-thirty.  There  was  no 
town  here  —  just  the  creek  and  a  ranch  house  and 
the  remains  of  a  sawmill.  The  telephone  company 
is  putting  a  line  through  here  and  hauling  poles 
[175] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

down  from  the  mountains.  We  met  some  of  the 
teamsters  who  told  us  about  the  road  over  the  Black 
Mesa,  and  as  we  had  a  good  place  to  camp,  we  con- 
cluded to  stay  here  the  balance  of  the  day  and  rest 
up  the  team.  We  caught  enough  trout  here  for 
supper,  the  first  we  had  had,  but  the  creek  was  so 
small,  and  the  brush  so  thick,  it  was  nearly  impos- 
sible to  fish  at  all,  although  there  were  plenty  of  fish. 
We  did  not  turn  in  until  9  p.  m.  on  account  of  the 
mosquitoes,  but  by  that  time  it  had  turned  so  cold 
they  disappeared,  and  we  were  left  in  peace. 

The  next  morning  we  got  an  early  start.  Our 
road  led  straight  up  onto  the  mesa,  a  five-mile  climb, 
and  here  it  was  that  our  new  horse  showed  his  poor 
qualities  to  advantage,  or  rather,  our  old  horses 
showed  their  good  ones.  We  had  climbed  about  four 
miles,  most  of  the  way  nearly  straight  up,  when  on 
a  particularly  steep  turn  Cyclone  gave  up.  I 
couldn't  induce  him  to  try  again,  and  not  being  in 
a  place  where  I  could  take  any  chance  of  getting 
backed  off  the  road  down  the  mountain  side,  I  took 
him  out  and  told  Pete  to  let  me  have  Dixie.  The 
boys  thought  that  if  Cyclone  could  n't  pull  the  wagon 
up  with  Bess's  help,  poor  little  Dixie  surely  could  n't, 
[  176] 


A     CAMP     ON      BLACK     MESA 


The     Mountains 

but  they  did  n't  know  Dixie  and  I  did,  and  was  not 
disappointed.  She  and  Bess  pulled  that  wagon  up 
to  the  top,  much  to  the  delight  of  the  boys,  who 
amused  themselves  by  making  slighting  remarks 
about  Cyclone.  We  reached  the  top  at  ten  o'clock 
and  there  we  put  Cyclone  back  into  the  harness,  and 
that  was  the  last  time  we  ever  had  any  real  trouble 
with  him. 

Starting  on  we  had  a  splendid  drive  for  five  miles 
through  the  most  wonderful  of  Nature's  parks ; 
immense  pines,  a  profusion  of  flowers  of  all  colors 
with  the  Indian  Paint  Brush  scattered  here  and 
there  among  them.  One  could  imagine  some  land- 
scape gardener  had  laid  out  the  grounds,  except  for 
the  immensity  of  it.  Snow-capped  mountains  in  the 
distance  completed  the  scene,  and  when  we  camped 
at  noon  we  felt  we  would  like  to  spend  several  days 
here.  The  grass  was  knee-high  in  the  little  parks 
and  our  horses  had  not  had  such  good  feed  since 
starting.  It  certainly  was  worth  climbing  up  just 
to  be  here,  and  we  lingered  longer  than  usual  for 
lunch,  and  then  drove  only  five  miles  farther  before 
camping  for  the  night  on  a  little  creek  that  runs 
down  a  canyon  into  the  Gunnison  River  below. 

r  177 1 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

We  dished  one  of  our  hind  wheels  again  coming 
down  a  steep  rocky  piece  of  road,  and  had  to  take 
it  off  and  put  it  on  the  other  side  after  dishing  it 
back;  but  we  are  getting  used  to  little  things  like 
this,  and  bad  roads,  so  take  them  philosophically. 
We  fished  some  in  this  creek  where  we  camped,  but, 
while  we  saw  a  few  trout,  could  not  induce  any  to 
bite.  That  night  we  had  a  fine  camp  fire  and  the 
horses  a  good  rest  and  good  feed. 

This  is  the  Gunnison  Forest  Reserve  and  we  were 
surprised  to  find  several  hundred  cattle  up  here,  but 
later  ascertained  that  the  Government  allows  a  cer- 
tain number  to  be  pastured  up  here  at  twenty  cents 
per  head  a  month  for  cattle,  and  thirty  cents  for 
horses.  There  are  no  sheep  up  here ;  the  cattle  men 
killed  them  off,  and  while  there  was  quite  a  row  over 
it,  probably  no  one  will  try  sheep  for  a  while.  They 
can  only  pasture  them  here  for  three  months,  July, 
August,  and  September.  There  is  no  grazing  before 
July  and  too  much  snow  after  September,  so  it 
makes  a  very  short  season. 

We  start  Tuesday  morning  for  Sapinero  which 
we  expect  to  find  a  town  where  we  can  buy  some 
grain  for  the  horses  and  make  a  few  other  pur- 
[178] 


THE    TWO    NORMANS 


The    Mountains 

chases.  We  were  disappointed  in  this,  however. 
All  we  found  was  a  hotel  and  postoffice  and  two 
saloons.  Could  n't  get  much  of  anything,  and  no 
feed.  On  our  way  down  this  morning  the  trail  skirted 
the  side  of  the  canyon  and  we  could  catch  a  glimpse 
now  and  then  of  the  river,  looking  like  a  tiny  brook, 
far  down  below.  We  could  look  across  to  the  mesa 
on  the  other  side,  called  "  Blue  Mesa,"  and  up  and 
down  the  canyon,  so  that  we  had  some  fine  views. 
The  land,  however,  was  bare  and  rocky  and  as  we 
got  lower  down  the  vegetation  assumed  more  of  the 
character  of  the  desert.  When  we  finally  arrived 
at  the  river  level  and  left  Sapinero,  the  road  followed 
the  river  first  along  the  bank,  and  then  back  in  the 
hills.  The  road  along  the  bank  would  be  green  and 
shady,  but  a  hundred  yards  away  behind  a  hill  you 
could  easily  imagine  you  were  in  the  desert. 

Finding  a  good  camping  spot  near  the  river,  we 
stopped  at  3  p.  m.  for  the  balance  of  the  day  and 
tried  to  catch  some  trout  In  the  river,  but  with  poor 
success.  Norman  Bradley  caught  two,  I  believe,  but 
for  some  reason  the  Gunnison  River  did  not  yield 
us  much  fish,  and  we  met  several  fishing  parties,  all 
of  them  complaining  about  the  fishing.  As  the 
[179] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

Gunnison  is  supposed  to  be  a  good  trout  stream  I 
presume  we,  as  well  as  the  other  kickers,  were  poor 
fishermen. 

The  next  morning  we  drove  to  lola,  fourteen 
miles,  and  here  on  the  banks  of  the  Gunnison  I  found 
Mr.  Stevens  and  his  ranch  of  a  thousand  acres.  I 
had  a  letter  to  him  from  Mr.  Adams  and  he  let  us 
camp  on  his  land  and  fish  all  we  wanted  to.  Right 
here  seems  to  be  the  trout  fisherman's  Mecca  and 
we  were  supposed  to  catch  rainbow  trout  galore,  but 
did  n't.  The  boys  had  more  fun  with  a  town  of 
prairie  dogs  back  of  camp  then  they  did  fishing. 
As  the  fish  did  n't  bite,  they  turned  their  attention 
to  the  dogs  and  carried  on  a  regular  campaign 
against  them,  but  the  casualties  were  not  heavy.  We 
were  also  entertained  by  a  bull  fight  right  by  our 
wagon,  but  as  the  bulls  had  been  dehorned  it  was 
not  bloody,  just  exciting  and  noisy. 

Mr.  Stevens  has  a  fine  ranch  here,  plenty  of 
water,  nice  buildings,  and  all  the  conveniences.  He 
is  one  of  Colorado's  best-known  cattle  men,  being  a 
member  of  the  State  Commission.  We  said  good- 
bye to  him  the  next  morning  and  started  for  the 
Cochetopa  Pass  over  the  Continental  Divide.  Mr. 
[180] 


«^i^ 


THE  BLACK  CANYON  OF 
THE  GUNNISON 


The     Mountains 

Stevens  had  told  us  that  was  about  the  only  way  a 
wagon  could  get  over. 

It  was  twelve  miles  to  Gunnison  and  the  road 
followed  the  river  closely.  It  was  a  beautiful  morn- 
ing and  we  enjoyed  this  stretch  of  road  very  much. 
We  passed  many  campers'  cabins,  all  fishermen ;  also 
hotels  and  tents.  All  the  fishermen  we  interviewed 
said  the  fish  were  not  biting,  so  we  felt  better.  One 
always  feels  less  dissatisfied  with  his  own  failures 
if  other  people  are  likewise  unfortunate. 

At  ten-thirty  we  reached  the  town  of  Gunnison. 
Here  we  had  a  wagon  wheel  set,  one  of  the  horses 
shod,  and  bought  a  few  provisions,  and  on  making 
inquiry  were  told  we  would  have  to  cross  the  Con- 
tinental Divide  via  Cochetopa  Pass  to  Salida.  We 
figured  this  to  be  seventy-five  miles  farther  than 
Marshall  or  Monarch  Pass,  but  were  advised  not  to 
try  Monarch  as  it  was  impassable  for  a  wagon.  So 
having  had  plenty  of  experience  with  bad  roads  we 
promised  to  go  via  Cochetopa,  and  started  out  again, 
leaving  Gunnison  at  3  p.  m.  We  drove  only  about 
six  miles  when  we  found  a  good  place  to  camp  and 
a  brook  that  looked  as  though  there  might  be  trout 
in  it,  so  we  stopped  right  there. 
[181] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

We  were  at  the  "  parting  of  the  ways."  To  go 
south  over  Cochetopa  was  our  intention,  but  Brad 
thought  we  were  not  hving  up  to  the  record  we  had 
made  up  to  date  unless  we  went  straight  east  over 
Monarch.  He  thought  we  would  not  know  whether 
we  had  been  told  the  truth  or  not,  unless  we  tried  to 
get  over;  and  that  seventy-five  miles  looked  a  long 
distance  out  of  the  way  to  me,  so  we  were  glad  of 
a  chance  to  stop  at  the  "  parting  of  the  ways  "  to 
consider. 

About  this  time  a  "  schooner "  came  down  the 
road  from  the  direction  of  Monarch,  and  we  could 
not  resist  the  temptation  to  hail  them  and  inquire  if 
they  had  come  over  Monarch  Pass,  and  were 
delighted  to  find  that  they  had  come  over  that  way 
from  Salida.  They  had  travelled  from  Oklahoma 
and  were  going  to  Delta,  one  of  the  towns  we  had 
come  through,  to  take  up  some  fruit  land.  We  could 
not  tell  them  much  about  Delta,  but  they  told  us  all 
we  wanted  to  know  about  Monarch  Pass.  They  had 
come  over,  and  that  was  enough  for  us.  We  could 
do  anything  anybody  else  did,  or  we  thought  so. 
However,  I  did  ask  how  the  trail  was  and  if  they 
thought  we  could  get  over.  Claudie  (as  his  wife 
called  him)  said :  "  Well,  we  got  over,  and  I  only 
[  182] 


A    CAMP    SITE    ON    THE 
GUNNISON 


The     Mountains 

tipped  the  old  lady  and  kids  over  once,  but  I  imagine 
it  is  harder  getting  up  from  this  side."  The  "  old 
lady,"  a  buxom  young  woman  of  about  twenty-four, 
laughed  and  said  they  were  not  hurt  any  and  she 
thought  we  could  get  over  if  we  had  come  from  Cal- 
ifornia without  a  smashup. 

So  we  settled  it  right  there  that  we  would  go  over 
the  Continental  Divide  at  Monarch  Pass,  or  break 
something,  and  so  while  the  boys  fished  we  got  sup- 
per. They  came  back  without  a  fish,  but  after  sup- 
per caught  three,  two  rainbow  and  one  brook  trout, 
about  half  a  pound  each. 

The  next  morning  we  started  for  Sargent,  a 
little  town  at  the  foot  of  Marshall  Pass  and  just 
south  of  the  trail  over  Monarch  Pass.  The  roads 
were  good,  and,  although  we  were  climbing  up  all 
day,  we  made  about  twenty-four  miles  and  camped 
one  mile  from  Sargent.  On  the  way  the  boys 
tried  to  catch  some  fish  in  a  brook,  but  without 
success. 

We  find  the  deer  flies  bother  the  horses  a  good 
deal  during  the  day  and  at  night  the  mosquitoes  are 
a  pest,  but  by  9  P.  m.  the  cold  drives  them  away. 
We  have  beautiful  warm  days,  but  up  here  in  the 
mountains  the  nights  are  cold. 
[  183  ] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

The  next  morning,  Saturday,  the  sixteenth  of 
July,  we  were  at  Sargent  at  seven,  and  following 
this  same  brook  up  we  reached  the  forest  ranger's 
house  by  ten,  seven  miles  from  Sargent  and  six  miles 
from  the  top.  I  went  in  to  interview  the  ranger 
and  he  said  we  had  better  rest  our  team  until  after- 
noon before  going  any  farther,  as  the  trail  went 
straight  up  for  six  miles  from  here  and  the  farther  up 
we  got  the  worse  it  was.  We  concluded  we  would 
keep  on  going,  but  take  it  easy  and  give  the  team 
short  pulls  and  frequent  breathing  spells.  Before 
going  any  farther,  however,  we  took  everything  out 
of  the  wagon  that  we  could  pack  on  the  saddle 
horses,  and  Brad  walked  ahead  and  made  road,  and 
the  boys  walked  behind  and  led  their  horses  with  the 
packs.  This  took  out  quite  a  good  many  pounds  and 
I  felt  we  could  get  up  if  Cyclone  would  stick. 

We  started  on  this  last  lap  at  about  ten-thirty  and 
made  about  two  miles  by  noon.  Then  we  had  to 
change  sides  with  our  hind  wheels  on  account  of  the 
slope  of  the  trail,  and  also  soaked  them  in  water  to 
keep  them  from  dishing.  With  our  high  covered 
top  and  springs  under  the  box,  we  had  to  drive  very 
carefully  to  keep  from  tipping  over.  Starting  up 
[184] 


The     Mountains 

again  I  had  to  humor  Cyclone  occasionally,  but  we 
got  up  finally  at  5  v.  m.,  but  I  am  unable  now  to 
tell  how. 

Brad  worked  all  the  afternoon  throwing  rocks  out 
of  the  trail  and  filling  up  holes,  and  going  ahead 
around  a  bend  to  tell  me  what  condition  the  trail 
was  in  so  I  could  prepare  the  team  for  it.  Finding 
no  suitable  spot  or  water  at  the  top,  which  was  at 
an  elevation  of  11,500  feet,  we  went  on  down  the 
other  side  to  a  park,  about  a  mile  and  a  half,  over  a 
trail  that  was  all  a  wagon  like  ours  could  stand  and 
not  go  to  pieces ;  in  fact,  that  mile  and  a  half  was 
the  worst  piece  of  the  whole  2400  miles  I  drove,  and 
we  all  went  into  camp  that  night  at  six-thirty  tired 
and  sore. 

The  next  day,  Sunday,  we  had  a  chance  to  study 
our  surroundings,  as  we  did  not  move  camp  until 
afternoon.  We  were  in  a  park  by  the  side  of  a 
small  mountain  stream,  surrounded  by  pine  and 
spruce  trees,  about  a  thousand  feet  below  the  pass 
and  snowdrifts.  It  was  an  ideal  location  for  a 
camp,  and  In  looking  about  we  saw  that  the  survey- 
ors we  had  met  on  the  other  side,  near  the  top,  had 
their  camp  here,  and  below  us  were  two  tents  and  a 
[  185] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

wagon  with  a  team  of  mules  and  a  saddle  horse.  On 
inquiry  we  found  the  surveyors  were  working  for 
the  Bell  Telephone  Company.  The  other  folks  were 
just  out  on  a  trip  and  had  expected  to  go  over  the 
Divide,  but  had  got  this  far  and  did  not  dare  try 
the  last  mile  and  a  half.  They  were  sensible,  as 
there  were  two  ladies  in  the  party,  one  not  very  well, 
and  they  could  not  have  walked  or  ridden  in  the 
wagon  up  that  trail  without  danger  of  heart  disease, 
if  nothing  else. 

Having  such  a  nice  brook  in  front  of  our  door, 
so  to  speak.  Brad  and  I  had  a  house-cleaning  while 
the  boys  went  fishing.  We  also  did  up  the  washing, 
so  that  our  camp  was  quite  a  conspicuous  object 
with  all  the  blankets,  etc.,  hanging  up  around  us. 
I  took  a  picture  here  of  the  Continental  Divide, 
showing  our  camp  as  well.  It  was  a  beautiful  spot 
and  we  hated  to  leave  it,  but  as  we  were  not  camping, 
but  going  somewhere,  we  started  on  down  toward 
Salida  about  2  p.  m. 

We    passed    through    a    deserted    mining    camp. 

There  was   nothing  left   to   show  there  had  been   a 

camp   here   except   the  graveyard,  and  a   few  stone 

fireplaces.      The  graveyard  up   there  in   the  moun- 

[186] 


CONTINENTAL    DIVIDE 


The     Mountains 

tains,  away  from  all  habitation,  had  a  fascination 
for  me,  and  I  had  to  look  it  over  and  soliloquize 
before  proceeding.  When  we  did  start  on  again  the 
trail  dropped  down  fast,  although  it  was  fairly 
good,  and  we  soon  passed  through  Monarch,  a  typ- 
ical mining  town,  and  two  other  small  places,  and 
by  evening  made  camp  within  ten  miles  of  Salida. 
The  weather  had  been  threatening  all  day,  but  it  did 
not  rain. 

We  had  been  following  the  same  stream  down  all 
the  afternoon  and  while  the  road  was  good  "  con- 
sidering where  it  was,"  as  Brad  said,  we  met  several 
buggies  and  wagons  that  had  to  be  hung  up  on  the 
scenery  until  we  could  get  past.  The  stream  was  on 
our  right  hand,  and  usually  when  we  met  any  one 
we  had  no  place  to  turn  out,  and  the  other  chap 
had  to  climb  up  the  side  of  the  mountain.  Brad  had 
a  lot  of  fun  with  these  fellows.  They  usually  seemed 
helpless  when  they  saw  us  in  the  road  and  Brad 
would  get  out  and  tell  them  what  to  do,  and  half 
the  time  would  have  to  lead  their  horses  up  into  the 
brush  and  rocks  and  lift  the  buggy  over  a  boulder 
or  two,  and  then  we  would  go  on  leaving  them  to 
get  back  into  the  road  the  best  way  they  could. 
\  187  1 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

Our  camp  this  evening  was  alongside  the  road, 
near  a  brook,  where  there  was  some  grass,  and  we 
got  eggs  from  an  old  man  who  lived  nearby.  It 
looked  very  much  like  rain  and  blew  quite  hard  about 
bedtime,  but  it  did  not  rain  enough  to  lay  the  dust. 

The  next  morning  on  inquiry  we  found  it  was 
twelve  miles  to  Salida  and  that  we  were  two  miles 
off  in  our  calculations,  but  as  the  road  was  good 
and  down  grade  we  did  n't  mind  that.  We  reached 
town  at  ten-thirty,  "  provisioned  "  up,  bought  two 
hats  for  the  boys  in  place  of  the  old  "  slrawstacks  " 
they  were  wearing,  and,  after  getting  feed  and 
mailing  our  letters  and  postal  cards,  we  pulled  out 
for  Denver.  We  decided  to  go  via  Nathrop  and 
Fairplay  and  through  South  Park,  instead  of  via 
Colorado  Springs,  and  so  started  up  the  Arkansas 
River,  past  the  smelters,  going  about  four  miles 
before  stopping  for  lunch. 

In  the  afternoon  we  drove  about  eight  miles  far- 
ther through  a  heavy  shower,  but  over  a  fine  road, 
although  up  a  heavy  grade,  and  camped  on  a  mesa 
near  a  spring  out  in  the  open.  We  prepared  for 
another  shower  that  night,  but  did  n't  get  it.  We 
passed  numerous  ranches  along  the  road,  well  irri- 
[188  1 


CAMP      BELOW      THE     DIVIDE 


The     Mountains 

gated,  where  they  raise  grass,  alfalfa  and  oats,  and 
some  cattle.  We  also  passed  a  camping  party  from 
Ponca  Springs,  Oklahoma,  a  man  and  his  wife  and 
three  girls.  The  woman  had  tuberculosis,  I  think. 
They  had  intended  going  over  the  Divide  into  the 
dry  country  on  the  other  side,  but  had  not  been 
able  to  get  over,  and  were  going  back.  I  did  not 
inquire  how  near  the  top  they  had  been  before  giving 
it  up  —  probably  about  where  we  had  camped  the 
day  we  crossed. 

The  next  morning  it  was  quite  cold,  but  warmed 
up  later  in  the  day.  We  drove  on  up  the  river,  past 
Nathrop,  and  then  at  a  brick  school  house,  as 
directed,  we  left  the  main  road  and  the  Arkansas 
Valley  to  drive  over  the  mountains  into  the  Platte 
River  Valley.  The  road  was  a  good  one,  but  for  ten 
miles  it  was  a  stiff  pull  and  we  met  no  one.  After 
we  had  climbed  about  a  mile  we  got  a  good  view  of 
Buena  Vista  and  the  Arkansas  Valley.  The  scenery 
was  rough  and  the  country  dry.  As  we  neared  the 
top  we  had  some  more  fine  views,  but  aside  from  a 
few  birds  the  country  seemed  deserted.  We  found 
a  good  spring  at  noon  and  Avhile  here  the  boys  shot 
a  few  doves.  We  have  doves  and  young  rabbits 
[189] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

occasionally  to  eat,  as  we  have  had  fish,  but  not  so 
often  that  we  get  tired  of  them. 

After  lunch  we  drove  on  over  the  Divide  and 
down  to  a  siding  of  the  railroad  near  a  brook, 
through  a  thunder  shower,  mixed  with  hail,  that 
scared  Cyclone  into  fits.  He  had  evidently  not  been 
used  to  thunder  showers  and  up  here  in  the  moun- 
tains, if  you  are  not  struck,  you  very  often  think 
you  are,  and  when  a  bolt  would  seem  to  strike  right 
at  us,  he  would  jump  and  kick,  while  the  other 
horses  did  not  seem  to  mind  anything  but  the  wet- 
ting. 

The  boys  left  their  horses  and  brought  their  sad- 
dles inside  to  keep  dry,  and  when  we  got  down  we 
found  Kate  and  Dixie  had  loitered  behind  at  a  patch 
of  grass,  so  Norman  went  back  and  brought  them 
down.  We  figure  we  are  about  thirty  miles  from 
Salida  and  the  same  distance  from  Fairplay. 

Wednesday  morning,  July  19,  we  have  a  fine  road 
down  hill  past  the  salt  works,  and  over  by  Buffalo 
Springs.  W^e  drive  through  another  shower  and 
camp  about  sixteen  miles  from  our  starting  point. 
The  boys  had  quite  a  time  shooting  prairie  dogs  as 
they  rode  along  this  morning.  They  can  shoot  from 
the  saddle  and  many  a  dog  never  reached  his  hole. 
[190] 


The    Mountains 

This  afternoon  we  just  miss  another  heavy  shower 
by  driving  into  a  rancher's  hay  barn.  There  were 
showers  all  around.  This  is  a  low  valley  with  salt 
marshes  and  some  alkali.  The  south  branch  of  the 
Platte  starts  above  here. 

Going  up  a  mountain  grade  we  had  a  chance  to 
see  how  near  being  a  good  horse  Cyclone  was.  We 
were  close  to  the  railroad  track  (Colorado  Central), 
the  grade  was  very  heavy,  and  there  were  three 
engines  pulling  the  train,  and  he  "  stood  for  it," 
passing  within  fifty  feet.  He  has  quit  balking;  we 
shoot  out  of  the  wagon ;  he  does  n't  mind  autos ; 
and  now  a  triple-header  within  fifty  feet  of  him 
does  n't  cause  him  to  climb  a  tree,  so  we  consider 
him  a  good  horse  from  now  on.  He  certainly  is 
a  powerful  brute  and,  if  he  had  been  properly  handled 
when  he  was  broke,  would  have  been  a  very  valuable 
horse. 

We  camped  at  what  might  be  called  the  Four 
Corners.  We  had  come  up  from  Salida  on  the  south ; 
the  left-hand  road  was  the  old  freight  road  west  to 
Leadville ;  the  north  fork  led  to  Denver ;  and  the 
east  fork  to  Hartzel.  We  found  a  party  of  fisher- 
men from  Cripple  Creek  camped  here.  The  boys 
fished  a  short  time  and  then,  as  it  looked  like  rain, 
[191  1 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

we  made  things  tight  for  the  night.  Some  of  the 
fishing  party  were  old  freighters  who  had  been  over 
the  road  between  Denver  and  Leadville  many  times 
before  the  raih'oad  was  put  through,  and  they  told 
us  about  the  road  to  Denver.  We  will  soon  be  in 
South  Park. 

It  is  mostly  a  hay  country  through  here  and  they 
are  not  going  to  have  as  much  of  a  crop  as  usual. 
This  is  July  twentieth,  and  the  showers  they  usually 
have  around  July  first  are  just  beginning  now.  It 
would  seem  that  they  are  trying  to  make  up  for 
lost  time,  but  by  the  looks  of  the  hay  crop  it  is  evi- 
dently too  late. 

Pete  saw  a  coyote  about  fifty  feet  from  camp  just 
at  dark,  but  it  was  so  foggy  there  was  no  use  trying 
to  get  a  shot  at  him,  as  a  run  of  a  few  feet  would 
take  him  out  of  sight. 

The  next  morning  we  drove  to  Fairplay  and  in 
spite  of  the  rain  the  roads  are  fine.  They  are 
apparently  made  of  crushed  granite  and  are  the 
finest  roads  imaginable.  Autoists  would  enjoy 
driving  a  car  over  them,  if  they  could  but  get  in 
here.  We  went  on  to  Como  and  camped  three  miles 
beyond,  making  about  twenty-three  miles  to-day. 
[192] 


The    Mountains 

This  does  n't  seem  so  far  considering  the  good  roads, 
but  the  grades  were  always  with  us  and  we  were 
either  going  up  or  down,  at  neither  of  which  we 
could  make  very  fast  time. 

We  all  took  a  turn  at  the  prairie  dogs  to-day  and 
I  guess  if  we  claimed  a  bounty  on  each  one,  we  would 
have  made  enough  to  pay  for  our  ammunition,  as 
we  certainly  killed  a  lot  of  them.  The  ranchers 
were  glad  to  have  us  try  to  kill  them,  but  evidently 
were  surprised  that  we  did,  because  ordinarily  one 
gets  tired  shooting  before  he  actually  kills  one  that 
he  can  go  and  pick  up. 

All  along  here  the  elevation  is  about  ten  thousand 
feet.  The  mosquitoes  did  not  bother  us  so  much  as 
the  deer  flies  did  the  horses  during  the  middle  of  the 
day.  Sometimes  we  all  had  to  get  out  and  actually 
drive  them  away  with  switches,  and,  although  we  had 
nets  over  the  horses'  faces,  they  could  not  shake 
them  fast  enough  to  do  any  good. 

The  next  morning  we  drove  over  the  Divide  out 
of  South  Park  through  Webster,  and  camped  with- 
in two  miles  of  Grant  and  about  seventy  miles  from 
Denver.  Coming  over  the  pass  the  deer  flies  nearly 
drove  Cyclone  crazy,  and  we  all  had  to  fight  them 
[  193  ] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

until  we  got  up  on  top  and  into  a  breeze.  From  that 
point  down  there  did  not  seem  to  be  any,  and  we 
were  exceedingly  glad  of  it. 

Our  camp  we  called  "Good  Luck  Camp"  because 
when  we  had  unhitched  we  found  a  horseshoe  under 
the  wagon.  It  was  rusty  and  full  of  nails,  so  we 
hung  it  on  behind.  Here  we  had  shade,  grass  for 
the  horses,  and  a  fine  brook  from  which  we  expected 
to  catch  some  fish,  so  we  stayed  all  the  afternoon 
and  night,  but  caught  only  a  few  trout.  The  boys 
improved  their  marksmanship  by  shooting  at  swing- 
ing stones  and  all  sorts  of  moving  objects  they  had 
swinging  from  strings,  and  made  some  remarkable 
shots. 

The  next  morning  we  started  late  and  drove  down 
nearly  to  Bailey  and  camped  on  the  north  branch 
of  the  Platte.  The  roads  were  fine  and  we  began 
to  see  signs  of  civilization,  summer  cottages,  par- 
asols, "  boiled  shirts,"  etc.  We  saw  an  occasional 
robin,  but  the  magpies,  ravens,  and  dickey  birds  we 
seem  to  have  left  behind. 

This  afternoon  we  expect  to  stop  at  Bailey  for 
some  provisions  and  horse  feed,  and  then  make  camp 
as  near  Denver  as  possible,  so  as  to  be  sure  to  reach 
[  194  1 


A    LOG    CABIN    ON     BAILEY'S 
MOUNTAIN 


The    Mountains 

there  by  Monday  night.  Bailey  is  at  the  foot  of  a 
mountain  by  the  same  name,  and  we  pulled  in  there 
about  2  p.  M.  After  stopping  only  a  few  minutes, 
we  left  the  river  and  started  up  over  Bailey's 
Mountain,  going,  as  it  seemed  on  paper,  across  lots 
to  Denver,  but  in  reality  across  mountains.  We 
found  no  water;  all  the  streams  were  dried  up.  We 
passed  a  number  of  summer  "  shacks,"  all  vacant, 
and  met  no  one  for  miles.  Evidently  the  lack  of 
water  has  kept  the  people  out  this  summer. 

We  camped  for  the  night  near  a  vacant  summer 
house,  that  had  a  spring  in  a  log  house  by  the 
road.  It  was  getting  late  and  we  had  been  looking 
for  water,  and  probably  would  have  missed  this  place 
but  for  a  lone  horseman  who  came  along  and  told 
us  about  it.  He  said  he  had  driven  this  road  many 
times  and  this  was  the  dryest  time  of  all,  and  we 
had  no  reason  to  doubt  his  word.  Every  little  moun- 
tain stream  we  had  passed  since  leaving  Bailey  was 
dry  as  a  bone.  We  made  twenty-seven  miles  to-day 
with  a  late  start,  and  some  long  climbs,  so  we  think 
we  are  pretty  sure  to  reach  Denver  INIonday  night. 
We  were  busy  until  bedtime  with  the  horses  and  sup- 
per, besides  shooting  a  few  rabbits  and  doves. 
[  195] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

The  last  thing  we  did  was  to  take  one  of  our  hind 
wheels  off,  block  up  the  wagon,  dish  the  wheel  and 
take  it  down  to  a  water  hole  we  had  found,  tie  a  rope 
to  it  and  throw  it  in  to  soak  all  night. 

We  left  in  the  morning,  Sunday,  at  eight-thirty, 
drove  through  Shaffer's  Crossing,  on  over  another 
pass  and  down  to  Conover,  about  ten  miles.  Here 
we  found  an  old-fashioned  well  with  two  buckets,  in 
the  middle  of  the  road  in  front  of  a  country  hotel, 
where  we  watered  the  horses.  The  office  of  the  hotel 
contained  a  store  and  long  distance  telephone 
exchange.  The  people  here  asked  us  a  number  of 
questions  regarding  the  rainfall  back  in  the  moun- 
tains. Every  one  is  talking  about  the  drought. 
There  has  been  no  rain  on  this  side  of  the  range  and 
very  little  snow  last  Winter. 

Leaving  here  we  pass  a  number  of  empty  houses, 
large  roomy  affairs,  formerly  used  as  hostelries 
when  the  road  was  used  by  freighters  from  Denver 
to  Leadville.  It  is  thirty-two  miles,  they  tell  us,  to 
Denver,  and  we  drove  on  about  three  miles  farther 
before  stopping  for  lunch.     « 

We  made  what  we  call  a  dry  camp  near  a  ranch 
house.  We  stopped  our  wagon  under  a  big  tree 
[196] 


NEARING    CIVILIZATION 


The    Mountains 

beside  the  road.  There  was  a  splendid  breeze,  but 
no  water  in  sight.  The  boys  took  a  pail  and  went 
over  to  the  house  for  water,  but  were  gone  so  long 
we  began  to  worry  about  them.  When  they  finally 
returned  they  said  the  well  at  the  ranch  was  dry, 
and  they  had  gone  about  half  a  mile  to  a  spring 
where  the  family  had  to  go  since  the  brook  went  dry. 

All  the  vehicles  we  have  met  so  far  to-day  are 
three  autos  and  two  teams.  The  other  road  along 
the  North  Platte,  which  we  left  at  Bailey,  has  the 
water,  and  the  summer  resorts,  they  tell  us. 

We  are  still  twenty-five  miles  from  Denver,  and 
starting  late  we  plan  to  drive  to  Morrison,  but  are 
told  we  can  save  two  miles  and  get  a  good  camping 
place  by  going  down  on  a  creek  and  leaving  Mor- 
rison to  the  north.  This  we  did  and  got  into  camp 
at  seven-thirty,  just  three  and  a  half  hours  after 
leaving  our  noon  camp. 

This  three-and-a-half-hour  drive  was  very  inter- 
esting ;  in  fact,  probably  as  picturesque  a  drive  as  we 
had  anywhere.  We  began  going  down  grade  rapidly 
and  finally  the  road,  which  was  especially  good, 
turned  abruptly  down  into  a  canyon  and  turned 
and  twisted  among  the  trees  and  bushes  in  a  mar- 
[197] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

vellous  manner.  We  sent  the  boys  on  ahead  to  warn 
any  one  coming  up  to  pick  out  a  place  to  pass,  as 
in  spots  we  could  see  only  a  few  yards  ahead.  The 
walls  of  the  canyon  towered  up  nearly  perpendicular 
on  each  side  and,  although  the  sun  was  still  three 
hours  high,  it  was  twilight  Avhere  we  were. 

At  last  we  arrived  at  the  mouth  of  the  canyon,  or 
the  gateway  into  the  mountains,  and  before  us  lay 
one-half  of  the  world,  so  it  seemed,  stretching  away 
as  level  as  a  floor  and  as  far  as  we  could  see.  It 
was  really  not  so  flat  as  it  seemed,  but  coming  out 
of  the  mountains  where  we  had  been  for  weeks,  it 
seemed  absolutely  level.  Stretches  of  green  here 
and  patches  of  grain  there,  the  soil  red,  and  the  sun, 
dropping  behind  the  mountains  back  of  us,  reflected 
on  the  glass  and  roofs  of  Denver,  which  lay  about 
twenty  miles  away.  I  unconsciously  pulled  up  the 
team,  and  we  all  feasted  our  eyes  on  the  scene.  It 
seemed  like  an  enchanted  land,  more  like  a  mirage, 
and  we  made  several  more  stops  before  we  were 
reminded  to  hurry  up  and  get  to  a  place  to  camp 
before  dark. 

Our  last  camp  on  the  mountain  trail  was  a  very 
comfortable  one.  We  found  water  and  grazing 
[198] 


THE    OUTFIT    COMING    INTO 
DENVER 


The     Mountains 

here,  and  a  camp  wagon  from  New  Mexico,  a  man 
and  his  wife  and  daughter.  From  New  Mexico,  but 
ichere  to  they  apparently  didn't  know;  they  were 
just  "  on  the  way." 

We  had  reached  Denver  Monday  morning,  half 
a  day  before  we  expected,  and  ahead  of  schedule, 
and  as  Brad  did  not  have  to  leave  for  home  before 
the  twenty-eighth,  and  it  was  only  the  twenty-fifth,  he 
said  he  would  stay  over  and  clean  up  with  us,  and 
start  home  the  next  day.  We  got  into  town  about 
ten  o'clock,  put  our  outfit  up  at  Craig's  Sales  Stable, 
and  went  around  the  corner  to  the  New  Western 
Hotel.  We  cleaned  up  first,  put  on  our  "  store 
clothes,"  and  then  got  our  mail. 

I  dropped  into  E.  H.  Rollins  &  Sons'  banking 
house  for  some  currency,  and  saw  Mr.  Reynolds, 
lie  started  to  talk  business  to  me  and  I  thought  he 
was  speaking  a  different  language.  I  did  n't  seem 
to  understand  much  of  what  he  was  talking  about,  so 
got  away  as  soon  as  I  could.  Did  n't  feel  just  right 
in  an  office  anyway,  although  he  was  very  kind  and 
offered  to  do  anything  for  me  I  wished,  but  try  as 
hard  as  I  might  I  could  n't  think  of  anything  I 
wanted. 

[199] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

Going  back  to  the  hotel  I  seemed  to  keep  repeat- 
ing to  myself,  "  Funny  you  don't  want  a  thing ;  not 
even  a  cigar."  (I  hadn't  been  able  to  smoke  com- 
ing over  the  mountains  on  account  of  the  altitude.) 
Finally  passing  a  cigar  store  I  stopped  and  thought 
I  would  try  a  cigar  anyway,  and  see  if  that  was  n't 
what  I  wanted,  and  as  I  lighted  it  and  stepped  out 
on  the  street,  I  knew  it  was.  This  also  reminded 
me  of  the  fact  that  we  were  on  level  ground.  The 
mountains  had  been  passed. 


[200] 


Chapter    XIII 
The     Plains     of    Colorado 

TUESDAY,  July  26.  Denver  did  not  hold  many 
attractions  for  us,  so  we  decided  not  to  stay 
here  very  long,  perhaps  a  couple  of  days.  After 
we  had  seen  Mr.  Bradley  off  for  home  and  laid  in  a 
supply  of  groceries  and  feed,  I  examined  the  horses 
carefully  to  see  if  they  were  doing  as  well  as  they 
should,  and  was  surprised  to  find  that  Kate  was  so 
lame  she  could  hardly  walk.  I  had  intended  to  sell 
Cyclone  here,  as  we  could  get  along  very  well  with 
three  horses,  now  that  Mr.  Bradley  had  left  and 
there  were  only  three  of  us.  Besides,  Pete  was 
planning  to  leave  us  when  we  got  to  North  Platte. 
Finding  Kate  helpless,  I  concluded  to  get  a  fresh 
horse,  and,  not  wishing  to  part  with  any  of  my  old 
standbys,  I  traded  Cyclone  even  up  for  a  dun  marc 
to  go  with  Bess.  This  mare  we  called  Sally.  Craig, 
the  man  I  traded  with,  said  he  would  rest  Cyclone  up 
and  get  him  in  good  shape  and  use  him  for  his 
[  201  ] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

buggy  horse.  I  asked  him  if  he  did  not  want  to 
hitch  him  up  and  try  him,  but  he  was  an  old  horse 
trader  and  said  he  guessed  not;  if  we  had  driven 
him  across  Colorado  he  was  satisfied  he  was  broke 
and  gentle  enough  for  his  use.  I  could  see  the  boys' 
eyes  snap  and  was  afraid  they  might  laugh  out- 
right, but  they  managed  to  keep  sober.  I  kept  a 
string  on  my  trade,  however,  by  saying  that  I 
would  try  the  mare  by  driving  her  out  of  town,  and 
•if  she  did  n't  suit  me  I  would  come  back  for  Cyclone. 
This  being  settled,  I  looked  the  horses  over  again 
and  concluded  that  they  would  be  better  out  on  the 
road  than  in  a  barn.  They  were  not  eating  well 
and  the  flies  in  the  barn  worried  them,  so  I  told  the 
boys  we  would  pull  out  right  away. 

Hitching  up  Bess  and  our  new  mare  Sally,  Pete 
saddled  up  Dixie  and,  leading  Kate,  we  started  out. 
Kate  was  so  lame  she  could  hardly  walk  and  Craig 
said,  "  You  better  leave  that  mare  behind ;  I  will 
give  you  twenty-five  dollars  for  her  and  take  a 
chance  on  curing  her."  I  was  tempted  to  accept 
his  offer  as  she  seemed  hopelessly  lame,  but  some- 
how I  could  n't  bear  to  leave  her  behind  so  long  as 
she  could  follow,  and  as  I  remembered  how  we  had 
[  202  ] 


The    Plains    of    Colorado 

given  Iier  up  once  before,  and  she  had  followed  us  all 
day  crying,  I  did  n't  have  the  heart  to  sell  her ;  so 
I  drove  out  of  the  yard  and  she  hobbled  after  us. 

Safely  out  of  the  yard,  Norman  rolled  over  in 
the  wagon  and  looking  around  to  see  what  had  hap- 
pened to  him  I  found  he  was  convulsed  with  laugh- 
ter. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  I  said.  "Sit  up  and 
tell  me  quick." 

And  between  breaths  he  was  able  to  say  in  a 
rather  disjointed  manner,  "He's  going  to  feed  and 
rest  Cyclone  up  and  drive  him  to  a  buggy.  ]\Iy ! 
but  I  would  give  a  dollar  to  be  there  when  he  does 
it.  The  first  auto  will  put  him  through  a  street 
car  and  over  a  telephone  pole.  Say,  Mister,  how 
could  you  do  it?  "  And  he  was  off  again  in  another 
convulsion. 

By  this  time  Pete  had  ridden  Dixie  alongside  and 
with  a  smile  asked,  "  What  sort  of  a  buggy  horse 
do  you  suppose  Craig  will  have  when  he  gets  Cyclone 
rested  up  ?  " 

I  could  not  help  but  join  in  the  laugh  and  wished 
Brad  were  there  to  join  in  also. 

We  really  were  in  no  position  to  crow  over  the 
[  203  ] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

trade  until  we  knew  the  sort  of  horse  we  had.  Just 
then  we  passed  a  man  driving  a  team  and  he  stopped 
and  said,  "  Did  you  get  that  mare  of  Craig?  "  On 
being  told  that  we  had,  he  said,  "  Well,  she  is  O.  K. 
I  know  the  mare  and  the  man  who  owned  her  first, 
and  she  is  a  good  honest  mare  and  has  no  bad 
tricks."  And  he  was  right.  We  found  her  a  satis- 
factory addition  to  our  motive  power  and  just  as 
safe  and  as  good  a  puller  as  any  we  had,  but  she 
was  slow  and  kept  me  busy  at  times  to  keep  her  up 
to  Bess. 

Well,  we  were  on  the  road  again,  with  only  a  day's 
stop  at  Denver,  and,  after  getting  over  our  hilarity 
and  finding  we  had  a  good  horse,  we  began  to  feel 
a  bit  lonesome.  Brad  had  always  been  the  life  of 
the  party  and  would  have  enjoyed  our  horse  trade 
immensely,  but  in  lieu  of  being  able  to  talk  it 
over,  Norman  was  already  planning  to  write  him 
all  about  it. 

We  soon  had  another  horse  trade  under  way, 
however,  which  was  quite  a  ludicrous  affair.  It 
came  about  in  this  way.  We  were  headed  for  Hud- 
son and  that  night  we  camped  near  the  South  Platte 
River,  six  miles  from  Denver,  at  the  State  Fish 
[  204] 


THE    COOK 


The    Plains    of    Colorado 

Hatchery.  It  was  late  when  we  pulled  in  there  and 
when  Norman,  who  was  to  be  the  cook,  came  to  look 
for  his  stove  he  could  n't  find  it.  Some  one  had 
stolen  it  out  of  the  wagon  at  Denver. 

While  the  boys  were  getting  supper  under  diffi- 
culties, I  made  the  acquaintance  of  two  urchins  and, 
as  they  lived  near  and  had  a  woodpile,  I  got  them  to 
bring  us  some  wood.  Later  I  met  their  father  and 
we  got  to  talking  horse.  He  said  he  had  a  cowpony 
that  he  had  bought  of  a  "  puncher "  who  was 
through  there  with  a  bunch  of  cattle,  and  he  was 
trying  to  make  a  farm  horse  of  him.  He  had  only 
a  little  patch  of  land  and  light  work,  so  I  thought 
it  would  be  a  good  place  for  Kate  and  suggested 
he  trade  me  the  saddle  pony  for  her.  Incidentally 
he  could  pay  me  twenty-five  dollars  "  to  boot."  We 
finally  compromised  on  fifteen  dollars  and  were  to 
look  the  animals  over  in  daylight  before  making  the 
transfer. 

Next  morning,  just  as  I  was  hitching  up,  he  came 
over  and  said  he  would  take  the  mare,  and  asked 
me  if  the  pony  suited  me.  He  told  me  he  had  him 
fairly  well  broken  to  drive  and  thought  I  would  have 
no  trouble  working  him  if  necessary,  but  that  he 
[  205  ] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

had  been  a  saddle  pony  so  long  he  did  not  take  to 
harness  willingly.  "  We  won't  worry  about  that," 
I  said,  "  I  just  want  him  for  the  boys  to  ride  and  I 
want  Kate  to  have  good  care.  I  '11  hitch  him  up 
and  make  him  work  if  I  need  him.  First,  however, 
I  '11  have  Pete  go  over  and  ride  him."  So  calling 
Pete,  I  said,  "  Get  your  saddle  and  bridle  and  go 
over  and  catch  that  pony  and  ride  him  over  here.  If 
you  like  him,  we  will  trade." 

The  man  and  I  waited  for  some  time  for  him  to 
come  back.  Finally  when  he  did  come  he  was  on 
foot,  and  said  he  could  n't  catch  the  pony.  So  we 
all  went  over  and  the  man  caught  him.  I  thought 
the  pony  was  a  bit  "  wild  eyed,"  but  said  nothing. 
It  took  two  of  us  to  put  the  saddle  and  bridle  on 
and  then,  just  as  Pete  started  to  get  on,  I  had  a 
"  hunch  "  and  took  the  bridle  away  from  him  and 
said,  "  I'll  ride  him  myself  first."  I  threw  the  bridle 
over  his  head  and  put  my  foot  in  the  stirrup,  but 
something  I  had  learned  years  before  prevented  me 
from  getting  on.  I  looked  that  pony  in  the  face 
again  and  was  sure  I  was  right,  but  just  to  prove 
it  I  put  my  foot  In  the  stirrup  again,  took  hold  of 
the  pommel  of  the  saddle,  then  put  my  weight  on  his 
r  206  1 


THE     HOSTLER 


The    Plains    of    Colorado 

back.  That  was  enough.  He  broke  loose  and  did 
a  stunt  of  high  and  lofty  bucking  that  would  do 
credit  to  any  bronco  I  had  ever  busted,  with  myself 
the  centre  of  operations,  and  when  I  could  take  my 
eyes  off  of  him  long  enough  to  look  about  I  could 
see  that  both  the  boys  were  laughing,  and  when 
the  pony  finally  started  jumping  stiff-legged  toward 
his  owner,  with  his  head  down  and  bawling,  they 
rolled  over  in  the  grass  and  just  kicked.  The  man 
ran  for  his  life  and  got  behind  a  tree;  the  pony, 
running  into  a  barbed  wire  fence,  stopped,  and  the 
circus  was  over. 

Picking  up  my  hat  that  had  come  off  in  my  jump- 
ing about  to  keep  out  of  the  pony's  way,  I  said, 
"  If  you  will  take  off  that  saddle  and  bridle  we  will 
be  going."  And  looking  back  as  we  drove  away  we 
saw  the  man  standing  where  we  had  left  him,  still 
looking  at  the  pony.  He  had  never  ridden  a  horse 
in  his  life  probably  and  was  as  surprised  as  any  one 
at  his  antics. 

We  drove  to  Barr  Lake  and  about  four  miles  be- 
yond for  lunch.  The  country  was  flat,  the  roads 
sandy,  and  we  were  tangled  up  a  bit  as  to  direction, 
but  finally  arrived  at  Hudson  about  6:30  p.  m., 
[  207  ] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

and  putting  the  horses  in  the  livery  barn  went  to 
the  hotel.  It  looked  very  much  like  rain  and  here 
I  thought  we  would  rest  a  while. 

The  next  morning,  Thursday,  the  twenty-eighth, 
we  remained  in  Hudson.  Norman  had  a  stove  made 
so  he  could  do  better  work  in  the  cooking  line.  It 
was  not  much  of  a  stove  as  stoves  go,  but  for  our 
purpose  it  was  fine.  It  was  a  flat  piece  of  sheet 
iron  with  holes  punched  in  it,  attached  to  six  legs. 

I  made  some  inquiry  regarding  the  roads  and 
found  they  were  quite  sandy  along  the  railroad,  but 
that  if  we  were  not  afraid  to  cross  the  open  range 
we  would  have  better  travelling.  The  open  range 
didn't  scare  us  any.  We  had  no  fear  of  getting 
lost  and  decided  at  once  to  go  over  the  range  to 
Fort  Morgan.  Our  instructions  were  to  go  directly 
east  to  the  "  D  "  ranch  and  then  northeast  to  Fort 
Morgan,  getting  directions  from  the  "  D  "  ranch. 
We  got  to  Fort  Morgan  O.  K.,  but  without  any 
further  directions. 

Starting  at  1  p.  m.  we  were  soon  out  on  the  range, 

driving   over   a   rolling  country   without  a   tree  in 

sight,    but    plenty    of    good    grazing,    and    passed 

bunches  of  cattle  now  and  then.     Pete  saw  a  badger 

[  208] 


The    Plains    of    Colorado 

he  wanted  to  shoot  and,  as  he  sat  on  the  seat  with 
me,  he  reached  back  for  a  rifle,  picked  up  a  22-calibie 
with  short  cartridges  in  it,  and  instead  of  shooting 
the  badger,  shot  Bess  in  the  neck. 

Pete  was  more  surprised  than  Bess  was.  He 
seemed  unable  to  move  afterward.  Bess  merely 
looked  around  and  seemed  to  think  a  horse  fly  had 
stung  her.  She  still  carries  the  bullet  in  her  neck 
and  seems  none  the  worse  for  it,  but  if  Pete  had 
picked  up  the  other  gun  and  the  same  thing  had 
happened,  we  would  have  lost  a  horse  right  there. 
Pete  learned  something  about  guns  right  then  that 
may  be  of  value  to  him. 

Shortly  after  this  it  began  to  rain,  and  it  cer- 
tainly was  needed.  We  drove  on  through  the  rain 
until  we  got  near  a  ranch  house  where  we  could  get 
water.  Here  they  had  a  windmill  and  were  trying 
dry  farming.  The  rancher  said  It  was  dry  all  right 
and  this  was  the  first  rain  in  months. 

The  next  morning  It  was  still  threatening  rain 
when  I  got  up,  and  a  couple  of  range  horses  were 
trying  to  get  Into  the  wagon.  I  drove  them  away, 
but  as  It  was  wet  and  soggy  I  let  the  boys  sleep,  so 
that  it  was  eight-thirty  before  we  started  that 
[  209] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

morning.  We  had  fortunately  picked  up  some  dry 
wood  in  town  the  day  before,  which  we  kept  in  the 
wagon,  and  so  had  no  trouble  in  making  a  fire. 

Starting  off  we  found  a  fairly  good  trail  which  we 
could  have  used  to  advantage,  except  for  our  wide- 
tread  wagon  and  wide  tires.  We  are  just  beginning 
to  find  almost  all  the  vehicles  in  this  part  of  the 
country  are  standard  tread,  and  so  plan  to  have 
our  wagon  cut  down  at  the  first  opportunity.  We 
made  about  twelve  miles  by  noon  and  camped  on 
the  open  range  for  lunch. 

Most  of  the  country  we  had  just  driven  through 
was  being  fenced,  but  like  most  newly  settled  com- 
munities in  the  West,  the  first  settlers  seemed  to  have 
become  discouraged  or  dried  out,  and  had  left.  We 
found  hardly  any  one  on  the  claims.  We  saw  a 
good  many  cattle  and  the  buffalo  grass  was  still 
fairly  good  grazing,  and  the  rain  of  last  night  will 
help.  It  was  so  cloudy  and  cool  that  we  wore  our 
coats  or  sweaters  all  the  morning.  We  saw  plenty 
of  dogs  and  hawks,  but  no  game. 

We  planned  to  drive  to  Wiggins  this  afternoon, 
which  we  made  a  guess  should  be  fifteen  miles  away, 
but  did  not  get  more  than  nine  miles  before  the 
[210] 


^^'a 


NORMAN     BRADLEY     AND    KATK 


The    Plains    of    Colorado 

threatening  weather  made  us  decide  on  an  early 
camp  to  get  ready  for  a  rain  we  were  sure  was  com- 
ing. We  had  been  driving  across  country  with  no 
particular  road  and  at  a  deserted  ranch,  where  we 
could  get  water,  we  camped.  We  tied  down  our 
wagon  top  and  used  our  wagon  sheet  for  a  lean-to 
kitchen,  and  got  supper  while  the  rain,  which  had 
begun  while  we  were  getting  ready,  came  down  in 
torrents.  It  rained  nearly  all  night,  but  the  ground 
was  so  dry  it  soaked  up  the  water  like  a  sponge. 

We  had  no  more  than  unhitched  the  team  when 
two  kittens,  veritable  skeletons,  came  into  camp 
from  the  ranch  house,  and  we  were  glad  to  take 
them  in  out  of  the  wet  and  feed  them.  Camp  seemed 
more  cheerful  with  those  kittens  about.  How  they 
had  managed  to  live  we  could  n't  tell,  but  decided  to 
take  them  along  with  us  and  leave  them  at  the  first 
house. 

The  next  morning,  Saturday,  the  thirtieth,  while 
hitching  up  the  horses,  a  man  came  along  on  a 
pony,  and  riding  up  to  our  wagon  began  to  talk 
about  the  rain,  and  what  a  blessing  it  was  to  the 
country,  etc.  He  had  just  got  fairly  launched  on 
the  subject  when  he  saw  the  kittens,  and  about  that 
[211] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

time  they  "  sensed  him,"  and  he  got  off  his  pony  and 
said,  "  Well,  I  did  n't  forget  you,  but  I  was  afraid 
you  might  be  dead."  It  seems  he  was  the  owner 
of  the  claim  we  were  on,  and  these  were  his  kittens. 
He  had  gone  to  town  to  get  some  work  and  was 
coming  out  to  see  how  things  were,  and  had  brought 
a  bottle  of  milk  in  his  pocket  for  the  kittens,  in  case 
they  were  still  there  and  able  to  drink  it. 

We  visited  with  him  for  a  while  and  then  pulled 
out  for  Corona,  or  Wiggins  P.  O.,  on  the  railroad, 
where  we  bought  some  oats  for  the  horses  and  oat- 
meal for  ourselves,  and  then  went  on  and  made  camp 
alongside  the  railroad,  about  fifteen  miles  from 
Fort  Morgan.  Here  Kate  kicked  Dixie  on  the  left 
hind  leg,  at  the  stifle-joint,  cutting  quite  a  gash 
with  the  cork  on  her  shoe,  so  that  I  sewed  it  up. 
Dixie  was  so  lame  that  we  had  to  lead  her.  This 
delayed  us  so  that  we  did  not  get  into  Fort  Mor- 
gan until  6:30  p.  m.  We  ate  our  supper  at  a 
restaurant  and  then  drove  out  about  a  mile  and 
camped. 

Fort  Morgan  is  quite  a  prosperous  little  town  of 
twenty-five  hundred  population,  and  our  camp  that 
night  was  within  sight  and  sound  of  the  lights  and 

r  212 1 


NORMAN     HARRIS    AND    DIXIE 


The    Plains    of    Colorado 

noises  of  a  lively  country  town,  made  by  the  usual 
Saturday  night  crowd.  We  began  to  feel  cramped 
again.  To  camp  between  fences  near  a  railroad  and 
a  town  gave  me  the  feeling  I  imagine  one  must  have 
on  moving  from  a  big  country  home  into  a  stuffy 
city  flat. 

Sunday,  July  31.  The  rain  we  had  two  days  ago 
was  quite  general  over  this  part  of  the  country  and, 
now  that  it  is  over,  the  weather  is  liot  and  nmggy. 
The  roads  are  also  sticky,  and  with  a  lame  horse  we 
do  not  make  very  good  progress.  To  begin  with, 
we  found  after  going  about  three  miles  that  we  had 
forgotten  our  stove,  so  Pete  rode  Kate  back  after 
It.  Kate  is  picking  up  fast,  but  we  had  not  intended 
working  her  yet ;  still  she  deserved  the  six-mile  ex- 
tra ride  for  kicking  Dixie.  After  recovering  our 
stove,  we  drove  about  a  mile  beyond  Brush,  which 
was  ten  miles  from  Fort  Morgan,  for  lunch,  and 
then  drove  on  to  Snyder,  about  five  miles  farther, 
on  the  South  Platte  River,  and  made  camp  about 
3  p.  M.  in  a  grove  of  cottonwood  trees  and  turned 
the  horses  loose  to  graze  while  we  made  a  very  com- 
fortable camp. 

The  town  of  Snyder  (six  houses)  was  just  across 
[213] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

a  long  bridge  on  the  other  side  of  the  river  and,  as 
the  water  was  not  very  good,  we  took  pails  and 
went  over  and  got  a  good  supply  from  the  town 
pump ;  also  purchased  some  eggs.  The  boys  took 
a  bath  in  the  river  while  I  laundried  the  clothes. 
This  was  a  specially  good  camping  place  as  we 
had  plenty  of  wood  and  water,  besides  grass 
for  the  horses,  and  they  enjoyed  the  afternoon 
rest.  We  started  our  oatmeal  and  prunes  cook- 
ing in  the  fireless  cooker  as  usual,  and  then  turned 
in. 

The  next  day  we  continued  on  down  the  valley 
through  Hill  Rose  and  on  toward  Sterling. 
Ranchers  looked  prosperous,  although  the  season 
had  been  dry.  Wheat  and  oats  seemed  to  be  the 
biggest  part  of  the  crop,  but  beets  were  raised 
quite  extensively,  and  some  alfalfa,  but  it  looked 
poor. 

Toward  evening  we  were  stopped  by  a  woman 
who  said  her  mare  was  cast  in  a  ditch  and,  as  her 
husband  was  away,  she  and  the  children  had  been 
trying  for  hours  to  get  her  up,  but  could  n't, —  and 
would  we  be  good  enough  to  take  one  of  our  horses 
and  pull  her  out?  We  stopped,  of  course,  and 
Norman  Bradley  and  I  walked  over  and  had  no 
[  214  ] 


The    Plains    of    Colorado 

difficulty  in  rolling  the  animal  over ;  and  the  mare  ran 
off,  followed  by  her  colt,  none  the  worse  for  her 
experience. 

When  we  got  back  to  the  wagon  it  was  6:30  p.  m., 
so  we  decided  to  camp  right  there.  After  we  had 
our  supper  and  were  cleaning  up  by  lantern  light, 
the  woman's  husband,  who  had  evidently  just  got 
home,  came  over  to  thank  us  for  getting  his  mare 
up,  and  by  way  of  further  showing  his  appreciation, 
offered  to  give  us  a  three-legged  dog.  We  did  want 
a  dog,  but  wanted  a  whole  one,  so  declined  his  gen- 
erous offer  with  thanks.  Just  as  we  turned  in,  it 
began  to  rain  again.  The  drought  seems  to  be 
broken  and,  while  the  rain  does  not  improve  the 
roads,  it  is  such  a  blessing  to  the  country  we  are 
pleased  also. 

After  getting  already  to  start  the  next  morning, 
we  dressed  up,  that  is,  we  got  out  our  "  store 
clothes,"  and  our  good  shoes,  and  made  ourselves 
as  presentable  as  possible,  for  we  had  heard  that 
Sterling  was  quite  a  good-sized  town.  We  planned 
to  go  to  the  hotel  for  dinner  and  stay  and  see  the 
sights,  as  we  had  heard  they  had  a  street  fair  or 
circus.  We  were  disappointed  In  the  town  and  the 
circus  did  n't  interest  us,  but  we  had  dinner  at  the 
[215] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

hotel,  which  was  the  best  in  town,  and  even  the  din- 
ner disappointed  us.  We  could  get  up  a  much 
better  one  ourselves. 

The  only  satisfaction  we  got  out  of  the  hotel  was 
permission  to  go  into  the  dining-room  without  our 
coats.  We  remembered  our  last  experience  at  Delta, 
Colorado,  just  at  the  western  end  of  the  State,  where 
the  landlady  refused  to  let  us  into  the  hotel,  and 
concluded  clothes  did  have  something  to  do  with  our 
treatment  here  to-day. 

Going  over  to  the  barn  where  we  had  left  our 
horses,  I  found  a  rancher  with  his  wagon  broken 
down,  and  he  said  he  was  twenty  miles  from  home; 
so  I  just  got  out  our  box  of  tools,  bolts,  washers, 
etc.,  and  fixed  him  up  in  short  order.  He  wanted 
to  pay  me  for  the  job,  but  I  told  him  I  was  n't  a 
blacksmith;  I  was  just  a  farmer,  and  being  a  farmer 
himself,  he  knew  we  were  not  allowed  by  law  to 
collect  money  for  work  of  that  kind.  He  was  n't 
long  in  seeing  the  point  and,  after  telling  me  he  was 
convinced  I  had  never  belonged  to  any  union  and 
probably  never  would.  Invited  me  to  go  home  with 
him  and  stay  a  few  days  and  rest  up  my  team.  Be- 
ing in  a  hurry,  I  had  to  decline. 
[216] 


The    Plains    of    Colorado 

I  am  just  beginning  to  realize  that  I  am  never 
so  much  in  a  hurry  as  when  I  am  on  a  vacation.  I 
always  plan  just  a  little  more  than  can  be  done  dur- 
ing vacation  time,  and  then  usually  do  it  all,  which 
necessitates  one  grand  rush.  Some  time  I  am  going 
to  do  as  everybody  else  does,  and  take  it  easy  dur- 
ing my  vacation  and  not  be  in  any  hurry.  Then 
I  will  not  only  have  just  as  much  fun,  but  come 
back  to  work  all  rested  up. 

When  we  left  Sterling  at  4  p.  m.  the  horses 
seemed  in  good  spirits,  but  the  next  morning  Bess 
seemed  tired  out  and  Dixie  seemed  to  have  lost  her 
appetite.  We  were  still  leading  Dixie  on  account 
of  her  lameness,  also  Kate,  and  were  driving  Sally 
and  Bess.  We  drove  through  Iliff  and  eight  miles 
to  Proctor,  then  three  miles  toward  Crook,  when 
we  stopped  for  lunch. 

It  had  been  a  fine  cool  morning  with  a  nice  breeze. 
The  valley  had  flattened  out  so  that  we  could  see 
for  miles  on  each  side.  The  high  rolling  land  in 
the  distance  on  either  side  looked  very  much  like 
a  desert  and,  while  not  a  desert  exactly.  It  really 
was  of  little  value.  We  heard  that  a  new  irriga- 
tion ditch  was  to  be  put  through  here  from  the 
[  217] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

South  Platte,  by  Canfield  &  Company,  that  would 
irrigate  ten  thousand  acres.  Just  the  flood  waters 
were  to  be  used,  taken  out  between  October  and 
April,  and  a  charge  of  thirty  dollars  per  acre  was 
to  be  made,  plus  interest.  I  presume  this  water  was 
to  be  stored  in  a  reservoir.  Practically  all  the  land 
on  which  any  good  crops  are  raised  between  here 
and  Denver  we  found  was  irrigated.  The  balance, 
on  account  of  the  dry  season,  did  not  raise  much  of 
anything. 

In  the  afternoon  we  drove  through  Crook  and 
camped  about  four  miles  east  of  there  and  about 
three  miles  west  of  Red  Lion.  Just  before  making 
camp  we  met  a  party  of  horse  traders  who  tried 
to  work  off  something  on  us  in  exchange  for  Sally, 
but  as  she  was  about  the  only  workable  horse  we 
had  left,  we  knew  better  than  to  let  her  go,  and 
after  an  amusing  half-hour  we  let  them  go  without 
making  any  trade.  Bess  seemed  about  "  all  in," 
for  the  first  time,  and  Dixie  was  not  much  better, 
although  not  so  lame. 

The  next  morning,  Thursday,  August  4,  Bess 
seemed  so  weak  that  we  put  her  behind  with  Dixie, 
and  drove  Sally  and  Kate,  the  first  time  Kate  had 
[218] 


The    Plains    of    Colorado 

been  in  harness  for  a  month.  We  drove  by  Red 
Lion,  which  we  found  to  be  a  sign  on  the  railroad 
track,  and  on  to  Sedgwick,  about  thirteen  miles. 
Here  Bess  hung  back  so  much  that  after  lunch, 
this  side  of  Sedgwick,  we  put  her  in  the  harness 
again  and  to  lighten  the  load  the  boys  rode  Kate 
and  Dixie,  and  I  put  the  stay  chain  back  on  Sally, 
so  she  pulled  practically  all  the  load.  We  then 
got  along  very  well  and  by  4 :30  p.  m.  drove  to 
Ovid,  eight  miles,  and  camped  on  Lodge  Pole  Creek, 
making  twenty-one  miles,  which  we  thought  was  do- 
ing Avonders  with  a  tired  lot  of  horses.  We  had 
a  very  good  camp  here  on  Lodge  Pole  Creek,  but  it 
rained  hard  all  night  and  the  next  morning. 

We  should  have  stayed  there,  as  the  roads  were 
frightfully  muddy,  but  as  we  were  only  about  seven 
and  a  half  miles  from  Julesburg,  we  concluded  the 
sooner  we  got  there  the  better.  About  11:30  a.  m., 
during  a  lull  in  the  storm,  I  hitched  up  and  we 
started,  thinking  the  horses  would  be  better  travel- 
ling in  the  direction  of  a  barn,  than  standing  there 
shivering  in  the  cold  rain.  Sally,  with  the  stay 
chain  shortened  up,  pulled  the  wagon  into  Jules- 
burg by  2 :15  P.  m.,  the  boys  riding  inside,  as  it 
[  219  ] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

rained  all  the  time,  and  Kate  and  Dixie  walking 
behind.  Reaching  town  we  found  a  good  barn,  and, 
after  taking  care  of  the  horses,  we  repaired  to  a 
restaurant   for  lunch. 

In  the  afternoon  I  had  the  blacksmith  pull  the 
shoes  off  of  Kate  and  Bess  so  they  could  rest  up 
their  feet  while  they  were  resting  themselves.  This 
blacksmith,  by  the  way,  was  quite  a  wonder  in  his 
line  and,  when  I'  learned  of  his  ability,  I  got  him 
to  promise  to  cut  my  wagon  down  the  next  day, 
which  he  did.  He  took  the  axles  down  (they  were 
steel),  took  four  inches  out  of  the  middle  of  each, 
welded  them  together  again,  and  no  one  would  know 
they  had  ever  been  touched.  He  cut  the  wooden 
parts  down,  changed  the  brake,  and  we  were  ready 
to  start  with  a  standard  tread  wagon,  which  we  did 
the  following  Sunday  afternoon,  after  two  days' 
stop,  which  rested  the  horses,  and  the  change  in  the 
tread  made  it  very  much  easier  pulling. 

Julesburg  was  not  so  large  or  so  tough  a  town 
as  I  had  expected  to  find.  It  had  quite  a  bad  repu- 
tation some  years  ago,  but,  as  with  all  our  frontier 
towns,  time  has  remedied  that. 

Leaving  Julesburg  Sunday  afternoon,  the  roads 
[  220] 


The    Plains    of    Colorado 

were  not  very  good  as  it  had  been  raining  more  or 
less  for  several  days.  The  wagon,  however,  ran  so 
much  easier  that  we  were  soon  five  miles  from  town 
on  the  south  side  of  the  river,  and  finding  a  good 
place  to  camp,  with  feed  and  water  (water  in  this 
country  usually  means  an  irrigation  ditch),  we  de- 
cided to  go  no  farther.  It  was  Sunday  and  we 
should  not  have  started  except  we  wanted  to  get 
out  of  town.  Two  days  in  Julesburg  made  us 
anxious  to  leave,  so  at  this  first  good  camp  site  we 
stopped. 

Here  we  did  some  laundry  work,  took  a  bath,  and 
cleaned  up  generally.  Talking  with  the  farmers  we 
find  many  who  want  to  sell  out.  They  have  had  a 
very  bad  year.  Even  the  irrigation  or  wet  farmers 
seem  to  be  in  bad  shape,  as  water  failed,  dams  went 
out,  etc.  I  told  them  they  were  no  worse  off  than 
other  people  we  had  interviewed  in  the  West  and, 
if  they  moved  out,  I  would  advise  their  going  east, 
as  it  certainly  was  dry  west  of  here,  where  we  had 
been,  and  everybody  was  complaining.  I  think  this 
sort  of  talk  was  good  for  them.  It  did  n't  help  ex- 
cept in  their  minds.  People  are  always  more  apt  to 
feel  better  if  they  know  other  people  are  worse  off. 
[  221  ] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

Moving  on  the  next  morning  we  passed  Big 
Spring  and  about  4  p.  m.  reached  Brule.  We  were 
now,  Monday,  August  8,  in  Nebraska,  and  had  left 
Colorado,  through  which  we  had  been  travelling  since 
the  evening  of  July  2.  We  had  passed  over  all 
kinds  of  country  in  this  State,  from  the  desert,  over 
the  Rocky  Mountains,  to  the  plains,  and  had  nav- 
igated the  prairie  schooner  over  all  kinds  of  roads, 
so  that  now  we  felt  we  were  over  the  worst  end  of 
the  trip  from  the  point  of  travelling,  but  so  far  as 
scenery  was  concerned,  and  good  camping  places, 
we  did  n't  expect  much  from  here  on. 

We  had  given  up  our  kerosene  stove  at  Denver 
and  from  here  on  wood  for  fires  was  scarce.  In 
fact,  it  had  been  ever  since  we  left  the  stove  behind, 
and  we  were  obliged  to  pick  up  wood  along  the 
road.  Next  time  we  will  know  better  than  to  part 
with  a  good  stove,  but  I  cannot  say  that  we  missed 
any  meals  because  we  did  not  have  it. 


[  222] 


OUR    HORSES    ON    THE    OPEN    RANGE 
NEAR    DENVER 


Chapter    XIV 
Our     Party      Grows     Smaller 

BEFORE  getting  to  Brule  we  had  crossed  over 
to  the  north  side  of  the  river,  and  arriving 
in  town  and  a  storm  coming  up,  we  drove  into  a 
barn  and  went  to  the  hotel  for  supper.  We  had 
come  just  fifteen  miles  and  had  let  the  horses  walk 
practically  all  the  way.  The  storm  soon  blew  over, 
but  we  did  not  go  on,  preferring  to  let  the  roads 
dry  up  some,  so  slept  in  the  wagon  in  the  barn. 

Here  we  met  a  man  by  the  name  of  Hoover,  who 
was  going  to  Hershey,  near  North  Platte.  He  was 
hauling  household  goods.  He  had  been  working 
for  some  contractors  on  an  irrigation  job  and  was 
going  home.  Finding  the  roads  so  muddy  he  wanted 
to  unload  his  big  stove  and  send  it  on  by  freight, 
but  we  made  a  little  fun  of  his  doing  so  because  he 
had  a  fresh  strong  team,  and  I  told  him,  as  he  was 
going  our  way,  if  he  got  stuck  we  would  pull  him 
out.  This  allusion  to  his  team  needing  any  help 
[  223] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

rather  fussed  him,  and  he  said  he  guessed  if  we 
were  going  on  in  the  mud  he  could. 

He  had  a  wide-tired  wagon  also,  which  is  about 
the  worst  thing  to  handle  in  the  mud,  outside  of  an 
auto  without  chains,  so  we  had  our  troubles  to- 
gether. While  his  team  was  fresh  and  very  good 
walkers  we  travelled  together  and  managed  to  keep 
up  with  him,  much  to  his  surprise,  without  pushing 
our  team  very  much.  Starting  out,  we  drove  down 
the  valley  on  the  north  side  of  the  river,  or  rather 
river  bed;  there  is  not  much  water  in  the  river  this 
time  of  year.  What  would  ordinarily  be  there  is 
in  the  irrigating  ditches.  The  day  was  fine,  and 
outside  of  an  occasional  bad  spot  in  the  road  we 
made  fairly  good  progress. 

At  noon  we  camped  about  twelve  miles  from 
Brule,  going  to  the  river  to  water  the  horses. 
Near  us  was  another  party  of  campers ;  a  large 
family  and  three  poor  horses.  We  had  lost  track 
of  Hoover.  He  started  ahead  of  us  and  evidently 
did  n't  know  a  good  camping  place  when  he  saw  it, 
or  else  decided  not  to  stop  at  all.  Toward  evening 
we  overhauled  him  and  we  went  into  camp  together. 

After  getting  our  camp  into  shape  we  invited 
[  224  ] 


Our    Party    Grows     Smaller 

Hoover  to  eat  with  us,  which  he  seemed  glad  to  do, 
but  insisted  on  paying  for  his  share  of  the  grub. 
He  seemed  quite  interested  in  our  fireless  cooker 
and  camp  outfit,  but  could  n't  understand  why  he 
had  not  left  us  behind  during  the  day.  I  could  have 
told  him,  but  I  did  n't.  I  noticed  he  did  not  have 
a  brake  on  his  wagon,  so  that  going  down  hill  he 
had  to  go  slow,  while  I  let  our  team  trot  down, 
holding  the  wagon  with  the  brake.  In  this  way  I 
made  up  all  I  lost  on  the  level  and  up  grades,  and 
did  n't  worry  the  horses  either. 

The  next  morning,  Wednesday,  August  10,  we 
drove  on  through  Paxton  and  Sutherland,  and 
camped  about  ten  miles  from  North  Platte.  We 
had  been  making  from  twenty  to  twenty-five  miles 
a  day.  When  we  reached  Sutherland  Mr.  Hoover 
left  us,  following  a  different  road,  eight  miles  to 
his  farm  near  Hershey.  When  we  made  camp, 
which  was  by  the  side  of  an  irrigation  ditch  as 
usual,  the  wind  blew  so  hard  we  had  to  take  the 
cover  off  the  wagon  to  keep  it  from  being  blown 
over. 

As  soon  as  the  blow  was  over,  the  boys  got 
supper  while  I  measured  out  the  oats  and  fed  the 
[  225  ] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

horses.  As  usual,  they  crowded  about  the  wagon, 
but  Bess  laid  down  before  I  got  her  nosebag  ready, 
which  was  so  unusual  that  I  remarked  to  the  boys 
that  she  must  have  a  touch  of  colic.  She  would  not 
eat  and  I  was  quite  worried  about  her,  but  we  had 
supper  and  the  boys  turned  in,  leaving  me  sitting 
on  the  wagon  tongue  with  the  lantern  between  my 
feet  watching  Bess.  I  had  put  a  blanket  on  her  to 
keep  her  warm,  as   the  night  was   chilly. 

We  had  nothing  in  our  commissary  that  would 
relieve  colic,  so  picking  up  the  lantern  I  started 
down  the  road  to  a  farm  house  I  had  seen  in  the 
distance,  w^hen  we  were  making  camp.  It  was  a 
long  way  to  the  house,  or  it  seemed  so  in  the  dark, 
and  when  I  got  there  I  couldn't  make  out  whether 
any  one  was  at  home  or  not;  at  least  I  could  not 
wake  up  any  one  but  the  dog,  so  came  back  to  camp. 

My  impression  was  that  we  were  going  to  lose 
a  horse.  Colic  is  not  always  fatal,  but  I  felt  that 
not  having  anything  to  give  her  to  relieve  the  con- 
dition, the  chances  were  she  might  die. 

As  I  came  near  enough  to  the  wagon  to  see  it, 
the  white  canvas   top   made  it  look  twice  as  large 
as  in  the  daylight,  and  Bess  was  standing  up  be- 
[  226  1 


A     MID-DAY    CAMP 


Our    Party    Grows     Smaller 

tween  me  and  the  wagon,  throwing  a  shadow  on 
the  canvas  that  startled  me.  She  was  eating  grass 
and  wag  apparently  much  better. 

While  walking  about  and  adjusting  her  blanket 
I  was  astonished  to  find  a  little  colt.  It  was  dead, 
but,  as  I  buried  it,  I  could  not  help  smiling  at  my 
diagnosis  of  the  case,  and  wondering  what  the  bojs 
would  say  in  the  morning  when  I  told  them.  Just 
then  Norman  called  out  from  the  wagon,  "  What 
are  you  doing  over  there  anyway?  " 

Not  thinking  what  I  was  saying,  I  replied, 
"  Burying  Bess's  colic." 

The  next  morning,  Thursday,  August  11,  we 
drove  slowly  into  North  Platte,  and  put  our  horses 
in  a  barn  and  went  to  a  hotel  to  clean  up.  Pete 
was  to  leave  us  and  go  home  on  the  train,  so  Ave  did 
some  rapid  work  in  getting  everything  arranged. 
The  two  Normans  had  ridden  horseback  across 
Colorado,  about  five  hundred  miles,  had  done  the 
cooking  and  packing  since  leaving  Denver,  and  now 
that  one  was  leaving,  our  party  was  to  be  cut  down 
to  two,  Norman  Bradley  and  myself.  I  am  not 
sure  but  we  were  wishing  we  might  board  the  train 
also  with  Pete,  but  no  one  mentioned  it,  and  as 
[  227] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

the  train  pulled  out  we  felt  rather  lonesome.  We 
two  walked  back  up  town  and,  while  Norman  was 
buying  some  groceries,  I  stopped  in  at  the  bank 
to  get  a  check  cashed. 

The  last  time  I  had  been  in  North  Platte  was 
twenty  years  ago,  when  travelling  for  N.  W.  Har- 
ris &  Co.,  buying  bonds.  At  that  time  I  had  met  a 
young  man  by  the  name  of  McNamara  who  was 
working  in  one  of  the  banks  here,  and  as  I  had  to 
spend  Sunday  in  town,  he  came  around  to  the  hotel 
and  invited  me  to  go  and  call  on  a  young  lady  witli 
him. 

I  may  not  get  this  story  right  as  to  details,  but 
the  facts  I  have  not  forgotten,  and  when  I  found 
that  the  president  of  the  bank  in  which  I  went  to 
get  my  check  cashed  was  Mr.  McNamara,  I  was 
immediately  reminded  of  the  Sunday,  many  years 
ago,  when  this  same  Mr.  McNamara,  then  quite  a 
young  man,  and  I  had  gone  to  call  on  a  young  lady 
by  the  name  of  Cody.  He  had  evidently  called 
there  many  times  before,  but  at  this  time  there  was 
another  young  man  calling  also,  who  had  ridden  up 
on  a  bronco,  and  when  this  young  man  left,  wish- 
ing to  make  the  right  sort  of  impression  on  Miss 
[228  ] 


Our    Party    Grows     Smaller 

Cody,  who  by  the  way  was  a  daughter  of  Wm.  Cody, 
or  "  Buffalo  Bill,"  he  allowed  his  horse  to  rear  up 
and  fall  over  on  him,  breaking  his  leg.  Of  course, 
he  made  an  impression  right  there,  and  was  taken 
into  the  house  and  cared  for,  and  we  left.  I  had 
often  wondered  since  how  it  came  out,  viz.,  which 
had  made  the  more  favorable  impression,  and  now 
that  I  had  met  Mr.  McNamara  again  I  said,  "  Well, 
whom  did  Miss  Cody  marry?"  And  he  replied 
laughingly,  "  The  fellow  who  broke  his  leg,  of 
course;  it  always  ends  that  way."  So  after  many 
years  my  mind  was  finally  set  at  rest  regarding  a 
matter  into  which  I  had  often   thought  to  inquire. 

I  had  a  short  visit  with  Mr.  McNamara  and  the 
folks  in  the  bank,  and  then  gave  up  the  afternoon 
to  getting  things  ready  to  start  in  the  morning. 

The  next  morning  we  left  town  at  10  a.  m.,  crossed 
to  the  south  side  of  the  river  and  drove  until  1  p.  m. 
The  roads  w^ere  good  and  the  country  looked  better 
on  this  side  of  the  valley;  the  hills  were  close  to  us 
on  the  south,  and  to  the  north  the  valley  was  very 
wide,  as  the  north  fork  of  the  Platte  comes  down 
and  joins  the  south  fork  just  below  here.  Shortly 
after  noon  we  met  a  party  moving  into  northern 
[  229  ] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

Nebraska.  They  had  come  up  from  Kansas.  They 
had  twelve  horses  and  two  wagons,  and  had  just 
camped  in  a  schoolhouse  yard. 

The  odd  thing  about  this  country  was  that  there 
were  hardly  any  fences;  each  schoolhouse,  however, 
stood  in  the  middle  of  an  acre  of  ground,  with  a  fence 
all  around,  which  made  a  good  place  to  camp.  There 
was  usually  a  pump,  a  wood  shed,  and  grass.  What 
more  could  a  party  want?  They  could  turn  their 
horses  loose  to  graze  and  be  happy,  especially  as 
it  was  vacation  time,  and  no  scholars  or  teacher  to 
interfere. 

This  party  told  us  they  had  been  having  quite 
a  time  with  their  horses  and  colts,  as  on  this  main 
road  they  had  met  so  many  autos,  and  inquired  if 
we  had  had  much  trouble  that  way.  Needless  to 
say  we  did  n't  and  had  n't.  Our  animals  were  all 
broken  to  everything,  including  going  without  eat- 
ing when  necessary.  The  only  special  comment 
these  folks  had  to  make  regarding  our  trip,  when 
we  told  them  how  far  we  had  come,  was  that  our 
horses  did  n't  look  it. 

We  were  tempted  to  stop  and  camp  with  them, 
but  as  it  was  early  we  concluded  not  to  lose  half  a 
r  230  1 


Our    Party    Grows    Smaller 

day,  and  so  went  on.  A  shower  that  blew  up 
shortly  after  we  left  came  near  soaking  us  before 
we  could  get  the  sheet  down.  It  rained  so  much 
that  it  made  the  roads  muddy,  and  by  night  we  had 
made  only  eighteen  miles. 

We  had  reached  the  National  Soldiers'  Cemetery, 
and  on  inquiring  if  there  was  any  objection  to 
our  camping  there,  were  made  to  feel  at  home  by 
Mr.  Ingle,  the  superintendent.  He  showed  us  a 
good  place  to  camp,  offered  to  let  us  cook  on  his 
stove  if  we  wanted  to,  and  suggested  we  put  our 
horses  in  his  pasture.  We  did  not  need  to  use  his 
stove  as  we  had  dry  wood,  but  had  to  hurry  to 
get  our  supper  and  make  things  tight  for  the  night, 
as  it  soon  began  to  rain  again  and  kept  it  up  all 
night.  I  guess  we  were  tired,  because  I  remember 
we  turned  in  early,  and  when  I  woke  the  next  morn- 
ing I  found  the  lantern  still  burning.  I  had  gone 
to  sleep  so  quickly  that  I  forgot  to  blow  it  out, 
and  slept  soundly  all  night  with  it  lighted  and 
hanging  right  over  my  head. 

The  next  day,  August  thirteenth,  was  fine  and 
clear,  and  we  decided  not  to  start  on  until  the 
roads  had  dried  up  some,  and  so  visited  with  Mr, 
[  231  ] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

Ingle  for  a  few  hours.  He  showed  us  the  ceme- 
tery where  all  the  old  soldiers  who  were  killed  in 
the  Indian  fights  were  buried,  and  told  us  about 
this  country  when  he  first  came  through  here  as  a 
young  man  in  the  army.  Then  they  were  having 
more  or  less  trouble  with  the  Indians.  Now  the 
Indians  are  all  gone  and  he  is  an  old  man,  looking 
after  the  graves  of  those  who  died  or  were  killed 
at  that  time.  There  is  just  one  Indian  buried  here, 
Spotted  Horse,  a  stanch  friend  of  the  whites. 

Norman  was  quite  interested  in  the  process  of 
moving  the  bodies  of  some  of  the  soldiers  that  had 
been  placed  in  the  wrong  locations,  and  busied  him- 
self helping  the  men  move  them  while  Mr.  Ingle 
talked  to  me  about  the  days  when  this  country  still 
belonged  to  the  Indians. 

He  had  a  desk  in  his  office,  made  of  cedar.  It 
had  been  made  by  hand  many  years  ago  out  of 
cedar  cut  from  the  hill  back  of  the  cemetery. 
Sawed  out  bj^  hand  and  fastened  with  wooden 
pins,  it  was  nevertheless  a  fine  piece  of  furniture. 
His  office  was  full  of  Government  records  of  sol- 
diers and  correspondence,  and  would  be  a  good 
place  for  any  one  to  pick  up  old  army  tales,  which 
[  232  ] 


Our    Party    Grows     Smaller 

could  be  written  up  under  the  trees  beside  the 
graves,  with  no  one  to  disturb. 

This  cemetery,  miles  away  from  any  town,  sur- 
rounded by  a  brick  wall  and  filled  with  trees  shad- 
ing every  corner,  seemed  a  very  appropriate  place 
for  those  old  Indian  fighters  to  rest,  and  we  were 
glad  we  had  had  the  opportunity  of  seeing  it,  and 
talking  with  the  superintendent,  who  knew  so  much 
about  the  men  who  were  buried  there. 

Mr.  Ingle  wanted  us  to  spend  Sunday  with  him 
and,  if  time  had  permitted,  we  should  have  liked 
to  do  so,  but  with  our  usual  haste  we  left  at  twelve 
o'clock,  after  selling  our  old  saddle  to  one  of  his 
men  for  seven  dollars.  We  got  our  pay  by  cash- 
ing a  check  from  Mr.  Ingle,  less  seven  dollars,  and 
as  it  was  a  Government  pension  check  we  took  no 
risk.  As  he  wanted  a  dollar  more  I  cashed  his  per- 
sonal check  on  the  First  National  Bank  of  North 
Platte.  I  just  mention  this  to  illustrate  how  checks 
are  used  as  currency  in  this  country  and  no  ques- 
tions asked.  Later  I  stopped  at  a  country  store 
and  offered  ten  dollars  in  payment  for  some  small 
article  and  was  told  they  could  not  change  it  unless 
I  would  take  small  checks.  They  had  cashed  so 
[  233  ] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

many  they  were  out  of  currency.  We  managed  to 
scrape  up  the  change  and  went  on. 

Later,  passing  through  a  small  town,  I  went  into 
the  railroad  station  to  send  a  telegram,  for  which 
the  charges  were  sixty  cents,  and  handed  the  ticket 
agent  the  ten  dollars.  He  said  he  would  have  to 
go  over  town  and  get  it  changed  if  I  did  not  have 
anything  smaller.  Just  then  I  thought  of  the 
check  for  one  dollar  that  Mr.  Ingle  had  given  me, 
and  so  I  said,  "  I  have  a  check  for  one  dollar,  if 
that  will  go."  He  snapped  me  up  with  "  Why 
didn't  you  say  so  before?"  and  handed  out  forty 
cents,  waiting  until  I  had  produced  the  check  and 
endorsed  it,  when  he  put  it  in  the  cash  drawer, 
hardly  looking  at  it.  I  left,  wondering  how  easy 
it  might  be  to  put  bogus  checks  through,  if  even 
the  railroad  company  took  them  that  easy.  Well, 
we  didn't  have  to  try  to  pass  any  bogus  checks, 
but  it  did  seem  that  the  people  were  a  bit  careless. 

Leaving  the  cemetery  we  drove  to  Brady  Island, 
where  we  crossed  to  the  north  side  of  the  river  on 
a  bridge  that  seemed  a  mile  long,  but  in  only  one 
small  channel  was  there  any  water  running.  We 
drove  on  a  few  miles  over  sandy  roads  and  then 
[  234] 


Our    Party    Grows    Smaller 

camped,  about  eleven  miles  from  Gothenburg.  The 
next  morning,  we  drove  through  Gothenburg,  not 
expecting  to  go  far,  but  looking  for  a  good  camp- 
ing place,  which  we  did  n't  find.  It  was  a  sandy, 
muddy  road  to  Gothenburg,  and  then  we  drove  six 
miles  to  Willow  Island  and  five  more  to  Cozad,  and 
found  no  good  camp  site.  Then  we  thought  we 
might  come  to  a  creek  about  two  miles  farther  on, 
but  after  driving  three  miles  and  not  finding  one, 
we  camped  alongside  of  the  road,  making  about 
twenty-five  or  twenty-six  miles   for  the  day. 

We  met  several  prairie  schooners  to-day.  One 
party  of  young  men,  going  to  Sutherland,  stopped 
us  to  ask  about  the  roads  west  and  where  to  cross 
the  river.  Just  before  starting  up  one  of  them 
asked  me  where  we  were  from,  and  when  I  told  him 
California,  he  seemed  speechless  for  a  minute,  but 
finally  came  to  and,  as  we  started  up,  asked  me 
this  question,  which  I  did  n't  get  a  chance  to  answer 
—  and  perhaps  he  did  not  expect  me  to  —  viz., 
"  Say,  stranger,  where  are  you  going  to,  or  don't 
you  know?  " 

Some  way  that  question  seemed  to  strike  me  as 
especially  funny,  and  the  more  I  thought  about  it 
[  235  ] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

the  funnier  it  seemed,  until  I  found  myself  laugh- 
ing heartily.  Norman  did  n't  hear  his  question,  and 
when  I  told  him  what  I  was  laughing  at,  he  said, 
"  I  suppose  that  fellow  thought  we  had  started  out 
and  did  n't  know  enough  to  stop,"  which  remark 
set  me  to  laughing  again  and,  when  I  could  answer, 
I  said,  "  Well,  I  think  he  was  perfectly  justified  in 
asking  the  question.  After  this  if  any  one  asks  us 
where  we  are  from  we  will  tell  them  from  North 
Platte,  and  if  they  ask  us  where  we  are  going  we  can 
tell  them  Kearney.  This  will  be  enough  for  them 
to  know  and  will  save  conversation  and  may  keep  us 
out   of  the   lunatic   asylum." 

We  had  shot  a  young  rabbit,  which  we  had  for 
breakfast,  and  Norman  kept  the  foot  for  luck.  The 
next  day  was  foggy  and,  as  we  drove  along  slowly, 
Norman  shot  two  jack  rabbits  with  the  rifle,  mak- 
ing a  double,  so  to  speak.  He  saw  only  one  of  the 
jacks,  and  as  he  shot  it  the  other  jumped  into 
sight  and  ran  away,  but  did  n't  get  far  when  Nor- 
man's second  shot  knocked  him  over.  This  we 
considered  an  omen  of  good  luck,  as  well  as  marks- 
manship. 

Later  we  pulled  an  automobile  out  of  a  mud  iiole 
[  236  ] 


Our    Party    Grows    Smaller 

with  Sally,  9.fter  having  some  fun  with  the  men  who 
were  trying  to  start  it.  I  charged  them  two  dol- 
lars for  doing  it,  wliich  amused  Norman  greatly. 
We  divided  the  money,  two  silver  dollars,  and 
drove  on. 

Next,  Norman  spied  a  quail  sitting  on  a  nest 
close  to  the  road,  on  a  perfectly  bare  patch  of 
ground.  How  a  quail  had  the  nerve  to  make  a  nest 
in  such  an  exposed  place  was  more  than  we  could 
tell.  ]\Ir.  Roosevelt  would  probably  say  that  we 
did  n't  see  it  in  any  such  place.  To  be  sure,  how- 
ever, we  stopped,  walked  over  to  her,  and  she  ran 
away,  which  proved  that  she  was  alive;  and  we 
counted  sixteen  eggs,  which  proved  that  she  was 
setting  on  them.  There  was  n't  anything  as  big  as 
a  match  to  hide  it,  and  the  public  road  was  not 
more  than  ten   feet  away. 

Without  molesting  the  nest  we  drove  on  about 
half  a  mile  to  Buffalo  Creek  and  made  our  noon 
camp.  Here  there  was  plenty  of  grass,  and  we 
stayed  until  4  p.  m.,  and  then  drove  on  six  miles  to 
Lexington,  where  we  stayed  all  night.  Our  horses 
are  doing  fairly  well,  except  Sally.  She  is  lazy 
and  needs  to  be  prodded  most  of  the  time. 
\  237  1 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

Leaving  Lexington  at  seven-thirty  the  next  morn- 
ing we  had  fair  roads,  with  the  exception  of  a  mud 
hole  now  and  then,  until  we  reached  Overton.  The 
country  is  sparsely  settled,  flat,  and  uninteresting. 
At  Overton  we  were  stopped  by  a  fellow  who  said 
he  wanted  to  buy  a  horse,  and  I  offered  to  sell  him 
Sally,  and  after  dickering  on  the  price  for  a  while 
he  said  he  would  give  me  a  saddle  horse  for  her. 
He  brought  out  the  saddle  horse  which  looked  like 
a  good  one,  but  I  did  n't  want  to  trade  horses ;  I 
v/anted  to  sell  one.  Having  spent  an  hour  doing 
a  lot  of  talking  to  the  edification  of  most  of  the 
population  in  the  little  town,  we  drove  on  without 
selling  Sally.  Norman  thought  we  should  have 
traded,  just  to  be  doing  something,  as  the  going  was 
monotonous  and  a  new  horse  would  give  us  something 
new  to  play  with;  but  I  concluded  we  were  better 
off  without  a  horse  we  would  have  to  watch,  tie  up 
at  night,  and  possibly  find  harder  work  disposing 
of  than  Sally. 

During  the  afternoon  we  drove  through  Simmons 

and  Elm  Creek,  over  some  dirt  roads  that  were  fine. 

It  looked  like  rain,  but  a  strong  wind  came  up  and 

we   concluded  it  would  blow  the  rain   away,  so  we 

[  238  ] 


Our    Party    Grows     Smaller 

were  in  no  hurry  to  get  our  supper  over.  We  had 
camped  about  eleven  miles  from  Kearney,  turned 
our  horses  loose,  and  were  just  washing  up  the 
dishes  after  supper  by  lantern  light,  when  a  hard 
thunder  shower  came  up,  and  by  the  time  we  had 
got  things  under  cover  it  was  raining  hard.  Be- 
fore turning  in  for  the  night  I  concluded,  as  there  was 
a  field  of  alfalfa  near  by  that  was  not  fenced,  that 
I  had  best  get  the  horses  up  for  fear  they  might 
stray  into  it  during  the  night  and  get  foundered. 
So  putting  on  my  rubber  coat  and  boots,  I  went 
out  and  hunted  them  up  and,  with  the  aid  of  the 
lightning  flashes,  brought  them  up  and  tied  them 
to  the  wagon,  and  then  we  turned  in  and  listened 
to  the  rain  on  our  canvas  cover  for  about  a  minute, 
and  the  next  minute  (so  it  seemed)  it  was  morning, 
and  the  rain  was  over. 

As  we  turned  out  that  morning  the  country 
looked  as  if  it  had  been  literally  soaked;  water 
stood  In  the  fields,  and  the  dirt  roads  that  were  so 
fine  the  night  before  were  seas  of  mud.  It  was 
still  cloudy,  but  we  concluded,  if  we  delayed  start- 
ing, the  sun  would  soon  come  out  and  dry  things 
up  a  bit  and  make  It  easier  going.  By  eleven 
[  239] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

o'clock  it  was  still  cloudy  and  we  decided  not  to 
wait  any  longer,  so  hitched  up  and  drove  very 
slowly  through  the  mud  the  eleven  miles  to  Kear- 
ney, where  we  arrived  at  about  3  p.  m.,  having 
stopped  near  the  midway  sign  for  lunch.  This 
sign,  supposed  to  be  half-way  across  the  continent, 
says: 

"  1,733  miles  to  Frisco,  Boston  1,733." 
We   wanted  to    change   the   sign    so   it   would   read 
"  1,600  miles  to  Los  Angeles,  and  800 
miles  to  Chicago  " 
but    knew    no    one    would    see    any    sense    in    put- 
ting up   such  a  sign.      There  did  seem  some  sense 
in   putting   up  this   midway   sign,    although   I   told 
Norman  it  seemed  as  though  we  should  have  come 
to  it  sooner.     It  seemed  too  far  east  considering  the 
time  we  had  been  on  the  road, —  now  three  months, 
—  as  it  appeared  as  though  we  had  gone  more  than 
half   way    to   the   Atlantic   Ocean.      Norman,   how- 
ever, thought  if  we  had  been  going  west  instead  of 
east  we  would  have  expected  to  find  the  sign  farther 
east ;  at  least  we  would  have  about  the  same  feel- 
ings   regarding   the    distance,    hardships    of    travel, 
etc.,  whichever  way  we  were  headed. 
[  2  to  1 


Our    Party    Grows    Smaller 

This  reminded  me  of  the  old  story  of  the  Cath- 
olic priest,  who  was  riding  a  nmle  into  town  over 
a  very  muddy  road,  and  meeting  one  of  his  flock 
he  said :  "  Good-morning,  Pat,  is  it  very  bad  going 
this  morning?  "  "  Yes,  Your  Reverence,"  said 
Pat,  "  and  it  is  just  as  bad  coming."  And  I  be- 
lieve they  were  both  right. 

Here  at  Kearney  we  decided  to  stay  three  or 
four  days  and  rest  up  the  team  and  see  if  we  could 
not  get  away  from  the  rain.  We  seem  to  have  been 
travelling  in  it  most  of  the  time  since  leaving  Den- 
ver and  conclude,  if  we  stay  here  a  few  days,  it  may 
get  ahead  of  us. 

The  first  thing  we  did  after  putting  our  horses 
up  in  the  livery  barn  was  to  get  our  mail.  Here 
I  found  a  note  from  Mr.  Adair,  Cashier  of  the  City 
National  Bank,  asking  me  to  call  at  once  on  a  very 
important  matter.  I  concluded  he  probably  had 
something  to  sell  and  had  heard  somewhere  that 
I  was  liable  to  come  through  his  town,  so  I  put  the 
note  in  my  pocket  and  we  went  to  the  Midway 
Hotel  and  cleaned  up,  planning  to  see  Mr.  Adair 
the  next  day. 

The  next  morning,  Thursday,  August  18,  was 
[  241  1 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

still  cloudy.  After  looking  around  town  to  see  if 
it  had  improved  much  since  I  was  there  last,  about 
fifteen  years  ago,  I  went  around  to  the  livery  and 
looked  the  horses  over  and  told  the  proprietor,  Mr. 
E.  C.  Duncan,  I  wanted  him  to  sell  Sally  for  me, 
if  he  could,  during  the  next  day  or  two.  Then  re- 
calling the  request  of  Mr.  Adair  to  call  and  see  him 
on  an  important  matter,  I  went  around  to  the  bank. 
Here  I  found  them  very  much  exercised  about  me. 
They  said  my  father  had  wired  them  that  I  was 
travelling  across  country  with  a  wagon,  and  was 
due  at  Kearney  about  this  time, —  and  would  they 
hunt  me  up  at  once,  spare  no  expense,  and  deliver  to 
me  the  very  important  message  he  had  sent  me  in 
their  care?  I  asked  impatiently  for  the  message, 
feeling  something  very  unusual  had  happened.  Per- 
haps some  one  was  sick  or  dead,  and  when  they 
told  me  that  they  had  given  the  message  to  one  of 
their  men  with  instructions  to  phone  up  and  down 
the  line  and,  as  soon  as  he  had  located  me,  to  start 
in  his  auto  with  the  message  and  deliver  it  to  me  as 
soon  as  possible,  I  was  quite  worried.  Just  then  a 
messenger  came  in  and  reported  that  I  had  not  gone 
through  town,  and  if  I  was  n't  at  any  of  the  hotels, 
[  242  ] 


Our    Party    Grows     Smaller 

they  were  going  to  take  the  road  back  toward 
North  Platte  and  see  if  they  could  find  me.  When 
informed  that  I  was  in  the  bank  he  started  out  to 
find  the  man  in  the  auto  and  get  the  telegram,  and 
when  told  it  would  be  an  hour  before  he  could  be 
back,  I  inquired  about  the  trains  for  Chicago  and 
found  one  left  at  twelve  o'clock.  It  was  just  10:30. 
I  would  have  time  to  get  ready  to  leave  town  and 
be  back  at  the  bank  to  get  the  telegram  by  the  time 
the  messenger  could  return,  if  I  hurried. 

I  returned  at  once  to  the  hotel.  Norman  was 
somewhere  about  town  and  I  knew  I  could  find  him 
before  train  time,  so  I  packed  up  my  belongings  and 
his,  paid  the  hotel  bill,  went  to  see  Mr.  Duncan, 
and  told  him  to  take  care  of  my  horses  and  wagon, 
sell  Sally,  and,  if  I  did  n't  ever  come  back,  I  would 
write  him  what  to  do  with  them.  Thus  I  got  back 
to  the  bank  just  as  the  man  drove  up  in  his  auto 
and  brought  in  the  telegram.  I  opened  it  rather 
hurriedly  and,  glancing  at  its  contents,  heaved  a 
sigh  of  relief.  No  one  was  dead;  no  one  was  se- 
riously sick;  just  a  case  of  important  business  which 
needed  my  attention.  I  was  almost  inclined  to  be 
provoked  because  no  one  was  dead.  I  had  fully  ex- 
[  243  ] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

pected  something  as  bad  from  all  the  fuss,  and  here 
I  was  ready  to  leave  in  thirty  minutes  for  Chicago 
just  on  account  of  business  matters,  when  I  had 
forgotten  I  ever  had  any  business. 

By  this  time  my  momentum  had  carried  me  out 
into  the  street,  and  running  across  Norman  I  said, 
"  Come  on,  kid,  we  are  going  to  catch  that  twelve 
o'clock  train  for  Chicago." 

"  Why,  what 's  wrong.?  "  he  said,  very  much 
surprised. 

"  Everything  and  nothing,"  I  said.  "  Just  come 
along  or  we  will  miss  the  train.  I  have  got  every- 
thing fixed  and  if  I  knew  when  I  was  coming  back 
I  would  let  you  stay  here  until  then,  but  I  can't  tell, 
so  you  had  better  come  along." 

We  caught  the  train  and  discussed  it  afterward 
and  concluded  business  had  no  place  in  an  overland 
trip.  Norman  left  me  the  next  morning  at  Davis 
Junction  to  go  home  to  Rockford,  and  I  came  on  to 
Chicago,  arriving  Friday,  August  19. 

Whether  this  is  the  end  of  the  trip  or  not,  I  can- 
not say,  but  my  impression  is  that  as  soon  as  I  can 
get  the  business  attended  to,  I  will  return  to  Kear- 

[  244  ] 


Our    Party     Grows     Smaller 

ney  and  take  up  the  trail  where  I  left  off,  and  finish 
it  if  I  have  to  go  alone.  In  the  meantime  the 
horses  are  having  a  much  needed  rest  and  the 
prairie  schooner  is  left  at  anchor  without  a  soul  on 
board.     Let  us  hope  her  journey  is  not  over. 


[  245  1 


Chapter    XV 
Alone      in     a     Prairie     Schooner 

KEARNEY  is  about  eight  hundred  miles  from 
Chicago,  and  with  fair  wind  and  weather  I 
started  on  the  trip  alone.  No,  not  exactly  alone 
either.  There  were  five  of  us,  including  the  dog,  as  we 
left  Kearney  at  3  p.  m.,  Saturday,  September  S.  Sally 
had  been  disposed  of,  but  Kate,  Dixie,  and  Bess 
were  in  good  condition,  having  had  two  weeks'  rest, 
and  I  had  brought  Cress  to  keep  me  company  and 
watch  the  wagon.  She  did  the  latter  vigilantly,  but 
was  a  very  poor  conversationalist.  How  I  managed 
to  get  back  to  Kearney  in  two  weeks,  and  why  I 
came  alone,  is  really  not  so  important  as  the  fact 
that  I  got  back,  and  did  start  alone;  the  why- 
for  is  merely  incidental. 

My  aim  was  to  get  over  that  eight  hundred  miles 

as  quickly  as  possible  and  not  hurt  the  horses.     It 

looked  easy,  and  as  the  horses  were  rested,  I  thought 

I   could   make   at  least   twenty-five   miles   per   day, 

r  246  1 


Alone    in     a    Prairie     Schooner 

which  ought  to  land  me  at  the  farm  at  Williams 
Bay,  Wisconsin,  October  4  or  5.  There  were,  how- 
ever, a  good  many  things  I  had  not  counted  on,  which, 
while  they  added  to  the  difficulties,  did  not  ex- 
pedite my  journey. 

My  first  stop  was  at  Gibbon,  fourteen  miles  out 
of  Kearney,  where  I  put  up  at  Bill  Smith's  livery, 
got  supper  at  a  restaurant,  and  slept  in  the  wagon. 
It  rained  nearly  all  night,  which  did  n't  make  the 
going  any  better.  Bill  Smith  was  quite  a  horseman 
in  his  day,  and  had  owned,  according  to  his  story. 
Smuggler,  Acton,  and  one  or  two  more  famous  race 
horses. 

The  next  morning,  Sunday,  it  was  foggy,  and  I 
did  not  pull  out  till  nine-thirty,  leaving  Smith  still 
talking  about  race  horses.  I  drove  through  Shelton 
and  on  about  five  miles  farther,  where  I  got  my  din- 
ner alongside  of  the  road,  and,  as  it  had  dried  up 
and  the  sun  came  out,  I  hung  all  the  blankets  out 
on  the  wagon  to  air,  as  I  found  things  a  bit  musty 
from  the  two  weeks'  lay-over  at  Kearney,  on  account 
of  having  been  put  away  damp. 

Putting  everything  away  again  I  drove  on  through 
Wood  River,  which  is  fourteen  miles  from  Gibbon. 
[  247  ] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

I  should  have  stopped  there  as  a  storm  was  commg 
up,  but  as  it  was  only  4  p.  m.  and  the  roads  were 
getting  better,  I  kept  on  for  about  two  miles,  think- 
ing I  would  find  a  better  camping  place  and  get 
settled  before  it  ramcd,  but  I  lost  out.  Of  a  sud- 
den it  turned  loose,  and,  before  I  could  get  the 
wagon  sheet  down,  it  was  raining  hard  and  the 
wind  was  blowing  a  gale.  I  turned  into  a  farm  yard 
and  got  behind  a  barn  to  keep  from  being  turned 
over,  and  from  this  shelter  I  managed  to  get  the 
sheet  down,  don  my  rubber  coat  and  boots,  and  help 
the  farmer  get  his  barns  closed  up.  He  allowed  me 
to  bring  my  horses  in  out  of  the  storm. 

Here  I  spent  another  night  sleeping  and  eating 
in  the  wagon  during  the  rain,  and  had  only  made 
sixteen  miles,  which  was  not  up  to  my  schedule  of 
twenty-five,  and  muddy  roads  in  sight. 

The  next  day,  starting  at  10  a.  m.  in  the  rain, 
I  managed  to  reach  Grand  Island,  sixteen  miles,  by 
4 :30  p.  M.,  where  I  stopped  for  the  night,  and  filled 
my  grub  box  with  eggs,  bacon,  oatmeal,  etc.  The 
country  about  here  looks  fine,  splendid  crops,  and 
land  selling  at  one  hundred  dollars  per  acre.  The 
horses  have  only  been  walking  thus  far,  but  they 
[  248  1 


Alone     in     a    Prairie     Schooner 

are  walking  fast ;  to-morrow,  if  possible,  we  will 
start  to  drive  in  earnest,  and  1  hope  to  make  at 
least  thirty  miles,  or  at  least  reach  Central  City, 
which  is  twenty-four  miles. 

Leaving  Grand  Island  the  roads  were  better,  and 
I  got  to  Chapman,  twelve  miles,  by  ten-thirty ; 
reached  Central  City  at  2:30  p.  m.  and  kept  on  to 
Clark,  eleven  miles  more,  making  thirty-five  miles 
for  the  day,  which  was  the  farthest  we  had  ever 
driven  in  one  day.  Chapman  is  a  small  place,  but 
Central  City  is  a  fine  little  town  and  looked  very 
clean  and  prosperous.     Clark  is  just  a  little  hamlet. 

The  roads  to-day  were  fine,  except  a  mile  or  two 
of  sand.  The  country  through  which  I  passed  Avas 
as  fine  a  farming  section  as  I  had  seen  anywhere. 
Incidentally  I  saw  a  few  yellow  blackbirds  among 
a  flock  of  crow  blackbirds,  the  first  I  had  seen  any- 
where, except  at  Delevan  Lake,  Wisconsin,  several 
years  ago. 

It  is  thirty-one  miles  from  my  camp  here  to-night 
to  Columbus  and  I  am  going  to  try  to  drive  that 
far  to-morrow  with  Kate  and  Dixie.  Bess  shov/s 
signs  of  a  sore  neck  and  so  I  decide  to  take  her  out 
of  harness  for  to-morrow  and  lead  her. 
r  249  1 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

Wednesday,  September  7,  starting  at  7:15  a.  m., 
I  reached  Duncan,  twenty-three  miles,  at  twelve- 
thirty.  Starting  on  again  at  two-thirty  I  reached 
Columbus  at  5  p.  m.,  making  from  thirty  to  thirty- 
two  miles  for  the  day,  which  made  up  for  the  first 
three  or  four  days  of  slow  travel.  The  country  all 
along  here  looks  prosperous.  I  drove  across  Crys- 
tal Creek  between  Duncan  and  the  town  of  Crystal 
Creek,  and  over  the  Loup  River,  just  at  the  town 
of  Columbus.  As  I  turn  in,  it  looks  like  rain  again. 
It  certainly  is  not  ideal  camping  weather. 

The  following  morning,  after  the  usual  rain  dur- 
ing the  night,  I  was  late  in  getting  started.  Before 
leaving  Columbus  a  bright  thought  had  come  to  me. 
It  was  to  telegraph  to  an  old  chum  of  mine  by  the 
name  of  Lewis,  who  was  living  in  Omaha,  to  come 
out  to  Fremont  and  ride  into  Omaha  with  me. 

After  getting  this  telegram  off,  I  started  on 
toward  Fremont.  There  was  a  cold  north  wind 
blowing,  and  what  few  people  I  met  driving  had  on 
overcoats,  and  were  wrapped  up  in  lap  robes.  I 
got  as  far  as  Schuyler  for  dinner.  This  was  only 
eighteen  miles  for  the  morning,  but  far  enough 
considering  the  roads  which  were  bad  again,  on  ac- 
[  250] 


Alone    in    a    Prairie    Schooner 

count  of  the  rain.  I  tried  here  to  connect  up  with 
Lewis  over  the  phone,  but  could  n't.  Then  I  drove 
on  to  Rodger,  eight  miles  farther,  where  I  man- 
aged to  talk  to  Lewis  over  the  phone.  He  says  he 
will  meet  me  to-morrow  night  at  the  Ono  Hotel  at 
Fremont,  at  6  p.  m.  It  seemed  good  to  hear  a 
familiar  voice  and  I  shall  be  truly  glad  to  have  some 
company.  Cress  manages  to  relieve  me  of  any  care 
for  the  wagon  when  I  leave  it  temporarily,  as  she 
will  not  allow  any  one  to  look  into  it.  It  is  seventy- 
five  miles  from  Rodger  to  Omaha  and  I  have  made 
twenty-six  miles  to-day,  in  spite  of  bad  roads,  so 
feel   encouraged. 

I  went  over  to  a  hotel  for  supper  and  when  it 
was  called,  the  men  (about  twenty)  filed  into  the 
dining-room,  dropped  into  the  chairs,  ate  every- 
thing in  sight,  never  said  a  word  and,  when  through, 
got  up  and  filed  out  in  the  same  way.  It  was  a 
queer  performance,  but  the  meal  was  not  so  bad. 
It  consisted  of  scrambled  eggs,  cold  meat,  fried  po- 
tatoes, coffee,  bread  and  butter,  beans,  preserves, 
and  cake,  and  water  in  beer  bottles  —  all  for 
twenty-five  cents.  It  was  n't  as  clean  as  my  kitchen, 
but  I  get  tired  eating  alone,  so  like  to  drop  into  a 
[251] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

hotel  occasionally  and  try  some  one  else's   cooking 
and  see  different  kinds  of  human  nature. 

The  next  day  I  drove  twenty-five  miles  to  Fre- 
mont, passing  through  Ames  on  the  way.  Ames  was 
once  quite  a  town.  A  sugar  beet  refinery  was  lo- 
cated here ;  also  large  feeding  barns  for  sheep,  but 
the  sugar  beet  refinery,  and  sheep  barns,  are  out 
of  commission  and  the  people  have  moved  away  and 
the  town  site  is  for  sale,  including  all  the  barns 
and  empty  houses.  Question :  What  is  a  town  site  and 
houses  worth  if  there  are  no  people  in  the  town  to 
occupy  the  houses,  or  any  excuse  for  getting  them 
to  move  in?  I  found  one  family  of  women  folks  who 
had  n't  money  enough  to  move,  as  they  explained 
when  I  stopped  to  water  the  horses,  so  I  made  a 
donation  and  moved  on. 

From  here  into  Fremont  the  road  was  very  good, 
so  that  I  arrived  at  4  p.  m.  I  had  seen  a  great  many 
posters  on  the  fences  and  telegraph  poles  as  I  drove 
along  and  there  seemed  to  be  something  familiar 
about  the  picture.  On  closer  examination  I  was 
surprised  to  find  it  was  my  friend  Lewis'  picture. 
He  was  running  for  the  State  Legislature.  Passing 
a  livery  stable  in  town  I  was  hailed  by  the  pro- 
prietor who  asked  me  if  my  name  was  Harris. 
[  252  ] 


Alone    in    a    Prairie     Schooner 

Quite  astonished  I  pulled  up  and  said,  "  Yes,  who 
are  jou?  " 

He  laughingly  replied,  "  I  'm  only  the  livery 
man,  but  I  was  told  by  jNIr.  Lewis  to  have  you  put 
up  here  and  he  would  be  back  shortly." 

"  Well,  I  like  his  nerve,"  I  said. 

"  Most  people  do,"  said  he. 

"  I  believe  you,"  I  replied,  and  came  down. 

Mr.  Lewis  soon  appeared  and  we  had  a  chance  to 
talk  over  old  times  while  driving  into  Omaha  the 
next  day,  Saturday.  Sunday  I  spent  with  him  and 
his  family.  He  has  a  country  place  of  about  ten 
or  fifteen  acres,  and  while  their  house  was  large 
enough,  I  insisted  on  his  sleeping  in  the  wagon  with 
me,  much  to  the  disgust,  I  think,  of  Mrs.  Lewis,  who 
thought  I  should  be  glad  of  a  good  bed.  They  have 
a  very  interesting  family  and  I  enjoyed  my  Sunday 
with  them  very  much. 

Monday,  Lewis  offered  to  go  with  me  across  the 
river  and  through  Council  Bluffs  to  Weston  as 
guide.  I  had  come  all  the  way  to  Omaha  without  a 
guide  and  without  getting  lost  or  off  the  trail,  but 
I  accepted  his  offer  gladly.  Much  to  his  disgust 
and  my  amusement  he  got  lost  in  the  Bluffs,  and  we 
had  to  make  several  inquiries  regarding  the  road 
[  253  ] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

and  did  not  reach  Weston  until  after  dark, 
and  just  in  time  for  him  to  catch  a  train  back  to 
Omaha. 

Having  "  roasted  "  him  considerably  for  getting 
lost,  I  concluded  I  had  had  fun  enough  at  his  expense 
to  call  it  even,  but  he  evidently  thought  differently, 
for  he  wrote  up  my  trip  for  the  Omaha  World- 
Herald,  including  several  pictures,  and  then  sent  me 
a  copy  with  the  remark,  "  Now  will  you  be  good?  " 
—  and  I  had  to  admit  he  had  got  ahead.  If  he 
was  n't  a  good  guide,  he  was  a  good  scribe.  All 
over  that  section  of  Iowa,  where  the  World-Herald 
was  taken,  the  farmers  came  out  with  a  copy  of  the 
paper  and  stopped  me  and  wanted  to  ask  me  ques- 
tions, and  look  me  and  the  outfit  over.  I  was  thank- 
ful when  I  got  out  of  its  territory. 

The  State  of  Iowa  is  familiar  to  the  travelling 
public  that  travel  in  trains,  and  it  is  considered  one 
of  the  best  farming  States  in  the  Union.  Admit- 
ting the  many  advantages  possessed  by  the  State, 
for  me  it  presented  few  attractions.  It  rained 
every  other  day  on  an  average  while  I  was  driving 
across  it ;  when  it  did  not  rain  every  other  day,  it 
rained  two  days  in  succession. 
[  254  ] 


Alone    in    a    Prairie    Schooner 

Passing  from  Council  Bluffs  through  Weston,  I 
followed  what  is  called  the  "  River  to  River  Road  " 
as  far  as  Newton,  Iowa.  This  is  a  road  the  citizens 
of  Iowa  are  very  proud  of,  and  it  runs  across  the 
State  to  Davenport.  While  it  is  kept  up  as  well 
as  possible,  it  is  nothing  but  a  dirt  road  after  all, 
and  rain  does  not  help  it  any,  as  I  discovered  on 
entering  the  State,  and  was  never  able  to  forget,  as 
it  was  one  struggle  with  rain  and  mud  all  the  way. 

I  imagine  if  a  profile  map  of  this  cross  section  of 
the  State  were  made,  it  would  look  like  a  lot  of  old- 
fashioned  beehives  set  closely  together,  or  a  lot  of 
eggs  packed  closely  in  sawdust,  with  the  big  ends 
sticking  out  about  one-third  of  the  way.  Driving 
through  such  a  country  one  is  either  going  up,  or 
going  down,  most  of  the  time,  and  what  might  have 
been  an  easy  pull  up,  and  a  slide  down,  resolved 
itself  into  a  desperate  struggle  to  get  up,  and  a 
pull  going  down,  on  account  of  the  mud.  This  was, 
of  course,  such  a  drag  on  the  horses  that  I  sometimes 
despaired  of  getting  through  with  them  anywhere 
near  as  soon  as  I  had  planned,  but  there  were  many 
amusing  incidents  en  route  which  helped  break  the 
monotony. 

[  255  ] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

Near  Guthrie  Center  I  met  a  very  large  red- 
faced  woman  in  the  road.  She  seemed  much  excited 
and  out  of  breath.  Stopping  me  she  said  her  hus- 
band was  stuck  in  the  mud  at  the  foot  of  the  hill, — 
and  would  I  pull  him  out  ?  —  she  could  n't.  I  hur- 
ried on  to  the  bottom  of  the  hill  much  excited  myself, 
only  to  find  a  wagon  stuck  in  the  mud,  and  the  man, 
an  old  soldier,  bewailing  his  luck.  I  pulled  up  short 
and  laughingly  said,  "  I  thought  you  were  stuck 
in  the  mud,  but  I  see  it  is  your  wagon."  I  saw  he 
was  not  in  any  mood  to  be  laughed  at,  so  I  got 
down,  and  without  saying  any  more  took  Bess  out 
and  asked  him  to  unhitch  his  poorest  horse,  and  I 
would  pull  him  out. 

He  seemed  quite  disgusted  and  said,  "  Why  don't 
you  take  your  team  and  put  them  on  ahead  of 
mine?     You  can't  pull  her  out  with  one  horse." 

Still,  to  make  a  long  story  short,  I  did,  and  he 
apologized  for  his  team  and  said  they  could  have 
pulled  the  wagon  out  if  they  had  been  fresh,  but 
they  had  pulled  that  load  all  the  way  from  Guthrie 
Center.  As  I  was  putting  Bess  back  to  the  wagon  I 
could  not  help  saying,  "  Yes,  I  am  sure  if  your 
team  had  been  fresh  they  could  have  pulled  you  out, 
[256] 


Alone    in    a    Prairie     Schooner 

but  it  is  a  long  way  to  Guthrie  Center,  and  this 
mare  has  only  pulled  her  share  from  Los  Angeles, 
California,  and  is  quite  fresh,  you  see." 

Climbing  up  into  the  wagon  and  reaching  over 
for  the  lines  I  could  not  help  but  smile  at  the  old 
man.  He  took  his  hat  off  and  walking  up  along- 
side of  the  wagon,  as  I  released  the  brake,  he  said, 
"  Good  Lord,  stranger,  I  might  have  known  you 
did  n't  belong  in  these  parts,  or  you  would  n't  have 
put  yourself  out  to  help  mc.  I  have  been  here  an 
hour  and  a  half,  and  lots  of  passers,  and  no  one 
but  you  offered  to  help.  I  wish  you  good  luck  and 
lots  of  it."  I  promised  Bess  an  extra  feed  of  oats 
that  night  on  the  old  man's  account,  and  I  hope  he 
never  gets  stuck  again  where  his  wife  can't  pull 
him  out. 

I  had  expected  to  reach  Des  Moines,  Sunday,  the 
eighteenth,  and  meet  jNIr.  Lingle,  who  had  offered  to 
come  out  and  spend  a  few  days  of  his  vacation  with 
me  in  the  schooner.  As  I  was  behind  my  schedule 
and  had  no  way  of  telling  when  I  would  reach  town, 
I  telephoned  into  Des  Moines  and  got  my  friend, 
]\Ir.  Hippee,  to  bring  Mr.  Lingle  out  in  his  auto  to 
meet  me. 

[  257  ] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

This  arrangement  resulted  in  nij  meeting  Mr. 
Polk  and  Mr.  Hippee,  together  with  Mr.  Lingle,  in 
their  auto  just  east  of  Adel  at  11  a.  m.,  Monday 
morning,  the  nineteenth.  I  was  just  twent^^-four 
hours  behind  my  schedule,  but  in  view  of  the  wea- 
ther, and  the  going,  I  was  much  farther  along  than 
I  had  expected  to  be. 

After  a  few  words  of  greeting  the  auto  went 
back,  and  Mr.  Lingle  and  I  continued  on  into  Des 
Moines,  which  we  reached  at  6  p.  m.  Here  we  de- 
serted the  wagon  for  the  hotel  and  spent  a  very 
enjoyable  evening  with  friends. 

From  here  on  we  had  two  days  without  rain,  and, 
with  fairly  good  roads,  we  drove  through  Colfax, 
Newton,  Kellogg,  Grinnell,  Brooklyn,  and  to  Victor 
before  it  began  again.  From  Victor  into  Ladora 
it  rained  hard  and  continued  raining  all  night  and 
all  the  next  day.  We  had  made  very  good  progress, 
however,  averaging  about  thirty  miles  per  day  for 
four  days  and  not  driving  very  hard  either.  Mr. 
Lingle  would  ride  the  lead  horse  several  miles  each 
day  and,  just  as  I  was  beginning  to  get  used  to 
good  roads,  and  he  to  a  prairie  schooner,  it  had  to 
begin  raining  again  and  Mr.  Lingle  had  to  return 
[  258  ] 


WE    ARRIVE    AT    KEMAH 


Alone    in    a    Prairie    Schooner 

to  "  store  clothes  "  and  the  city.  He  left  me  at 
Ladora,  where  I  remained  all  day,  while  the  rain 
played  havoc  with  the  roads. 

Leaving  here  and  going  on  through  Marengo  I 
arrived  at  Cedar  Rapids,  Monday,  September  26, 
having  driven  through  three  towns  of  the  Aniana 
Colony  along  Bear  Creek  and  the  Iowa  River,  and 
through  another  rain  storm  or  two.  By  way  of 
diversion  I  stopped  long  enough  in  Cedar  Rapids 
to  call  on  some  friends,  who  had  compassion  enough 
on  me  to  take  me  out  for  dinner. 

I  had  another  amusing  experience  at  Marion, 
just  after  leaving  Cedar  Rapids.  I  had  left  my 
wagon  at  the  livery  stable  that  night  and  concluded 
to  stay  at  the  hotel.  I  was  sorry  afterward,  but  I 
concluded  to  add  this  to  my  experience  and  stayed. 
The  hotel  was  evidently  full.  Court  must  have  been 
in  session  by  the  conversation  I  overheard  at  the 
table  and  in  the  office  afterward.  Wishing  to  retire, 
I  had  to  hunt  up  the  landlady  and  find  where  I  was 
to  sleep.  It  seemed  to  be  quite  a  problem,  but  I 
was  finally  ushered  into  a  closet  off  the  main  hall, 
that  contained  two  cots,  a  small  table  with  a  lamp 
on  it,  and  nothing  else  —  not  even  a  chair.  I  was 
[259] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

told  to  leave  the  door  open  for  fresh  air,  and  not 
to  blow  out  the  light  as  another  man  would  occupy 
the  second  cot. 

My  first  thought  was  to  go  back  to  the  schooner, 
but  I  had  never  slept  in  a  closet  before  and  I  might 
never  get  another  chance;  besides,  I  wondered  who 
else  would  be  fool  enough  to  sleep  there,  so  I  said 
nothing  and  turned  in.  Before  I  went  to  sleep  the 
other  man  came  in.  He  turned  out  to  be  a  Dago 
junk  dealer.  We  got  quite  well  acquainted.  At 
least,  I  did  with  him.  He  told  me  where  he  lived,  and 
all  about  his  business  and  family,  and  when  he 
finally  thought  to  ask  me  a  question,  it  was  this : 
"  What  are  you  peddling?  "  He  had  blown  out  the 
lamp  and  turned  in,  so  he  could  not  see  the  contor- 
tions I  went  through  before  I  could  answer.  When 
I  thought  it  was  safe  to  talk,  I  told  him  I  was  not 
peddling  anything,  just  taking  some  horses  to 
Chicago.  This  seemed  to  satisfy  him  and  we  let  it 
go  at  that. 

The  next  morning  we  left  the  stable  about  the 

same  time.     Starting  out  in  his  express  wagon,  with 

a  poor   decrepit    old   horse   hauling   some   old   iron, 

he  took   off  his   hat,  and  wished  me  good  luck.     I 

[  260  ] 


THE    LAST    ANCHORAGE    OF    THE 
PRAIRIE    SCHOONER 


Alone    in    a    Prairie    Schooner 

found  him  very  human ;  in  fact,  I  think  I  should  have 
liked  that  Dago.  He  seemed  very  much  like  a  white 
man.  He  did  n't  grumble  about  sleeping  in  the 
closet,  or  about  the  weather,  so  I  followed  his 
example  the  best  I  could  and  have  simply  remembered 
that  I  made  his  acquaintance  there. 

Leaving  Marion  I  drove  through  Springvillc, 
Martelle,  and  Brockton ;  then  to  Anamosa  and  from 
there  to  Amber.  At  Amber  I  bought  a  black-and- 
tan  foxhound  of  a  Mr.  Weiss.  I  had  Cress  for  a 
watch  dog,  but  things  were  so  quiet  about  the  wagon 
that  I  wanted  a  dog  that  would  make  a  noise,  and 
also  chase  rabbits  along  the  road,  so  as  to  make  a 
bit  of  a  diversion.  This  dog's  name  was  Joe,  and 
from  here  to  Williams  Bay  he  and  Cress  made  it 
very  interesting  for  all  the  rabbits  that  came  in 
their  way. 

We  now  made  quite  a  presentable  appearance  and 
Joe  lent  quite  the  necessary  touch  to  the  outfit.  A 
prairie  schooner  should  have  some  sort  of  a  hound 
following  It.  Cress  had  ridden  in  the  wagon  and  I 
had  overlooked  the  necessity  of  having  a  thin  hound- 
like dog,  trotting  along  behind,  to  complete  the 
outfit.  Now,  however,  we  were  strictly  in  style. 
[261] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

We  go  on  through  Monmouth  and  Maquoketa, 
and  I  made  my  last  camp  in  Iowa  about  two  miles 
from  Preston  Junction,  after  passing  through  the 
only  real  good  piece  of  timber  since  leaving  Denver. 
Just  before  going  into  camp  the  road  followed  a 
long  ridge  from  which  I  had  a  fine  view  of  the  sur- 
rounding country,  which  is  still  rolling. 

Getting  an  early  breakfast,  and  catching  up  the 
horses,  I  was  soon  on  my  way  to  Sabula,  which  I 
reached  at  2  :30  p.  m.  The  valley  of  the  Mississippi 
looked  good  to  me  that  morning  as  I  drove  down 
into  it  from  the  hills  and,  as  I  drove  the  wagon  onto 
a  barge,  to  be  ferried  over  to  Savanna  from  Sabula, 
I  felt  that  I  was  nearly  home. 

Mr.  Bradley,  who  had  kept  track  of  my  progress, 
met  me  here  at  Savanna  and  stayed  with  the  schooner, 
taking  his  old  place  in  the  galley  until  we  got  to 
Pecatonica.  The  weather  in  Illinois  does  not  seem 
much  better  than  in  Iowa,  but  it  did  not  rain 
Saturday  or  Sunday,  and  in  these  two  days  we 
drove  through  Mt.  Carroll,  Lanark,  Shannon,  and 
Freeport. 

Monday  morning  at  Pecatonica  Mr.  Bradley  took 
the  train  for  Rockford  and  I  drove  in  alone.  When 
[262] 


WE    TURN    KATE    OUT 
TO    PASTURE 


Alone    in    a     Prairie    Schooner 

I  reached  Rockford  it  was  raining  hard  and  it  was 
still  raining  when  I  left  for  Beloit,  Wisconsin,  the 
next  morning. 

I  had  spent  the  night  with  Mr.  Bradley  and  his 
family,  and  we  planned  for  him  to  come  up  to 
Beloit  in  the  afternoon,  on  the  train,  and  drive  with 
me  over  to  the  farm.  It  is  only  fifty  miles  from  here 
to  the  end  of  my  journey,  so  I  started  out  cheer- 
fully through  the  rain  and  mud. 

At  Beloit,  I  met  Bradley  as  planned,  and  we 
found  a  splendid  place  for  a  camp  that  night  in  the 
woods,  about  seven  miles  east  of  town.  While  we 
got  supper  the  dogs  put  in  the  time  running  rabbits 
around  a  patch  of  brush  just  back  of  us,  and  it 
was  quite  a  temptation  to  leave  supper  and  go  and 
shoot  one,  but  we  put  it  off  until  afterward,  and 
then  it  was  dark,  and  too  late. 

We  had  a  typical  camp  here,  and  when  we  had 
turned  the  horses  loose  for  the  night  and  got  every- 
thing in  shape,  we  lighted  our  pipes  and  spent  the 
evening  discussing  the  trip.  It  was  our  last  camp. 
To-morrow,  if  nothing  unforeseen  happened,  we 
would  reach  our  destination  and  the  trip  would  be 
over. 

[263] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

It  had  been  an  especially  interesting  as  well  as 
enjoyable  one  to  all  concerned.  The  Doctor  and 
Bob  had  enjoyed  the  desert  end  very  much;  Mr. 
Bradley  the  trip  over  the  mountains  ;  and  to  the  boys 
(the  two  Normans),  who  had  made  the  trip  from 
Grand  Junction  to  Nebraska,  it  was  a  new  as  well 
as  novel  experience.  The  total  distance  travelled 
had  been  2,492  miles.  Deducting  the  two  weeks' 
lay-off  at  Kearney,  the  trip  had  been  made  in  four 
months  and  four  days,  or  an  average  of  twenty 
miles  per  day,  which,  considering  we  had  the  same 
horses  all  the  way,  we  thought  was  creditable. 

I  was  reminded  again  of  how  near  I  had  come  to 
my  schedule  when  Bradley  said,  "  To-morrow  will 
be  October  fifth."  When  I  left  Kearney  I  had 
planned  to  be  at  the  farm  by  the  fifth  of  October, 
and  here  I  was  almost  certain  to  do  it,  in  spite  of 
all  the  setbacks  I  had  encountered,  in  the  way  of 
rain  and  roads.  This  was  only  another  instance  of 
our  good  fortune  during  the  whole  trip.  We  had 
somehow  managed  to  be  at  given  places  when  we 
planned  to  be.  We  were  very  fortunate  in  not 
breaking  down  or  getting  lost,  and  in  always  hav- 
ing enough  to  eat  and  drink. 
[264] 


BESS    ALSO    IS    TURNED    OUT: 
"GOOD    OLD    BESS" 


Alone    in    a    Prairie     Schooner 

The  one  thing  which  seemed  to  stand  out  more 
prominently  than  any  other,  however,  as  we  dis- 
cussed it  that  night,  was  the  fact  that  no  one  had 
been  sick.  In  spite  of  all  the  bad  water,  and  the 
canned  stuff,  which  might  have  made  some  one  of 
us  sick,  we  had  got  through  it  all,  including  the 
intense  heat,  without  any  one  being  laid  up.  This 
I  attributed  largely  to  the  fact  that  Ave  had  the 
advice  of  a  doctor  who  did  not  want  to  be  bothered 
with  sick  folks  on  the  trip.  At  home  we  might  not 
have  taken  his  advice,  but  on  this  trip  we  did  take 
it,  and  were  not  sick,  and  the  Doctor  was  n't 
bothered.  It  was  probably  very  late  when  we  finally 
turned  in,  but  this  is  not  surprising  under  the  cir- 
cumstances. 

The  next  day  we  drove  the  remaining  twenty 
miles,  arriving  at  the  farm  at  4  p.  m.,  and  the  thing 
was  done.  The  horses  were  turned  loose,  our  lug- 
gage put  away,  and  the  overland  trip  of  1910  was 
a  thing  of  the  past. 


No  more  camp  fires,  and  no  more  camping  in  the 
open  places,  with  the  trail  ahead.      The  city  calls, 

[265  ] 


The    Cruise    of    a    Schooner 

and  even  here,  before  I  get  into  my  store  clothes,  a 
gentleman  is  awaiting  me  with  a  request  to  take  the 
first  train  for  New  York.  So  quickly  am  I  whisked 
from  the  gipsy  life  I  have  been  leading,  to  the 
whirlpool  of  a  big  city,  that  I  am  fairly  dazed,  and 
I  hardly  recover  before  I  find  myself  getting  off  a 
train  in  the  Grand  Central  Station,  New  York.  Yes, 
it  is  surely  over.  The  Castle  is  built  —  even  to  the 
moat,  and  the  draw-bridge  is  up.  We  cannot  go 
back. 


THE  END 


V- 


i^ii 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  LOS  ANGELES 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

305  De  Neve  Drive  -  Parking  Lot  17  •  Box  951388 

LOS  ANGELES,  CALIFORNIA  90095-1388 

Return  this  material  to  the  library  from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


DEC 


-iJLs-'^ 


U><lVEKSiTY  of  CALIFORNij 


F595 

H24c  Harris  - 

The  cruise 


li[;„^,'Jl,'THf-RN  RrCtONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


h- 

i 

t^fr^*^^^ 

b 

-^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^H 

t', 

|i"-.*:; 


University  of  Ci 

Southern  Reg 

Library  Faci 


